


Catch and Release

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [18]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Typical Themes, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Past Child Abuse, Schemes and plots, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: It’s been two years since Ancel, AKA the renowned jewel thief and forger Ruby, started working with the police as part of his conditional release from prison. Since working with the police means working (and living) with Berenger, everything is going pretty great.Right up until a figure from Ancel’s past shows up and threatens to ruin everything.Sequel toCatch Me If You Can
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 90
Kudos: 193





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Catch Me If You Can](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496087) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone). 



> Shoutout to [Tera2](https://tera2.tumblr.com/) for the title! And a huge thank you to [sinnysin-sin](https://sinnysin-sin.tumblr.com/) for betaing <3
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, this is a sequel to [Catch Me If You Can](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496087/chapters/51231751) but you don't necessarily need to read that to enjoy this fic. The basic premise is that Ancel was a jewel thief, and Berenger was the detective assigned to his case. They've been basically in a relationship since the first time they met, and at this point they're two years into being partners in a "white collar"-esque situation.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about how the police works irl and I will continue to not care

* * *

Ancel slipped his hands into the pockets of his tweed jacket as he leaned a little closer to the glass case containing the lavish diamond tiara. At first look everything seemed fine, but there was something off about the way the stones reflected the light.

“Don’t bother,” a youthful voice muttered from beside him. “It’s a fake.”

Without turning his head, Ancel let his eyes slide over to look at the reflection of the young man standing at his shoulder. He had dark curls hidden under a baseball cap and was chewing gum. As Ancel watched, he blew an obnoxiously pink bubble that grew large enough to obscure half his face before sucking it back into his mouth with a slurp.

“It’s not,” Ancel said with a smirk, looking back at the tiara. “Not exactly. The setting’s real, but someone replaced the diamonds. I’m surprised to see you here, Nicaise.”

Nicaise shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets too. He was wearing a hoodie and ripped jeans. Last time Ancel had seen him, he’d been draped in silks and velvets. But he supposed Nicaise was in disguise now just like he was.

Ancel adjusted his glasses as he surreptitiously looked around the rest of the gallery. The room was mostly empty except for a few civilians. Orlant was there too, but he was clearly bored out of his mind as he pretended to inspect an emerald headpiece. He wasn’t looking as Nicaise leaned closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Last I heard you got pinched,” Nicaise murmured gleefully.

“Clearly you heard wrong,” Ancel said with a disdainful sniff.

“Sure,” Nicaise said. “So where’s your pet pig?” He looked around the room pointedly. “Or are you _his_ pet? Never thought you’d be running around on a leash.”

Ancel narrowed his lips into a frown. “We take turns wearing the collar,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. “Why are you here? Half the shit in this room is fake.”

“Oh, you know,” Nicaise said with a shrug. “Came to see an old friend.”

“We were never friends.”

“Guess not,” Nicaise said. “But I still owe you. For Govart. For your part in taking down the Regency gang.”

“Don’t _say_ that,” Ancel hissed, looking around nervously. “I didn’t do anything.” He’d only told Berenger where to look, and after that Berenger and Laurent had done all the work. Most of the Regency gang was dead or behind bars now, but that didn’t mean Ancel couldn’t get killed for daring to whisper a single name into the ears of a cop.

“Sure,” Nicaise said, completely unconcerned. “From one not-friend to another- watch out.”

“For what,” Ancel bit out.

“Someone’s looking for you,” Nicaise said. “Something about a debt you owe. That’s all I know.”

For a second Ancel couldn’t breathe.

“Professor Smith,” called out a vaguely familiar voice.

Ancel didn’t move, frozen to the spot. The past was supposed to be behind him, but he should have known he wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Professor Smith!”

“I think that’s meant to be you,” Nicaise said, raising his eyebrows. “Your bowtie is crooked, by the way. And hideous.” He wrinkled his nose and sauntered away.

“Professor Smith,” someone hissed pointedly and there was a hand on his arm.

Ancel startled, turning to see Lazar beside him with his eyebrows raised and his mouth curled into a frown.

“Apologies,” Ancel said with a forced smile. “I was captivated by the fine craftsmanship of this tiara.”

“Sure,” Lazar said. “If you’ll follow me, professor?”

Ancel adjusted his bowtie as he followed Lazar into a private room, trying to center himself and get back into character. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Except they stepped into the room and everything was _not_ fine. There was the curator of the museum, a short mousey man that Ancel recognized from the surveillance photos. Berenger suspected him of replacing the museum’s pieces with fakes so he could sell the real ones on the black market. Next to the curator stood _Louans._

Ancel froze. What the hell was Louans doing here? He hadn’t seen Louans in years, and they hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. Louans _knew_ him, his past, his real name. He could blow his cover with just a few words.

Louans smirked as he held out his hand.

“Larry Drums,” he introduced himself.

“Professor Alec Smith,” Ancel said stiffly. He moved to shake Louans’ hand only for the man to slip him a piece of paper. Ancel palmed it and hid it in his pocket, thanking his lucky stars that Berenger wasn’t here. He would have definitely noticed how shaken Ancel was. Luckily Lazar was a much better fit for playing the sleazy art collector, so for this particular job he was the one taking point.

The curator introduced himself too, but Ancel’s blood was rushing too loudly in his ears for him to pay much attention. He took a slow breath and turned his mind back to the job, the set of ruby hairpins laid out over a black velvet cloth.

“A beautiful piece,” he forced himself to say as he picked one up, turning it towards the light to watch how it glittered. He’d seen these same pins in a display case in the main room. Those had been fake. He could tell at a glimpse that these were real. Still, he forced himself to drone on about the workmanship, the history, the particular quality of the jewels. That was probably the sort of thing a professor would do.

“Professor Smith,” Lazar interrupted impatiently as he crossed his arms over his chest. That was probably the sort of thing a sleazy art collector would do. “Spare us the history lesson, you’re just here to authenticate the piece.”

“Apologies,” Ancel said with a weak smile. His fingers itched to slip the pin he was holding into his pocket, but he set it back down instead. “This piece is authentic.”

“Great,” Lazar said, grinning like a shark.

Louans offered a price, which was when Ancel realized he was here as a second buyer. Lazar countered it.

“Excuse me,” Ancel said. “I’ve got a class.”

“Yeah,” Lazar said, waving him away.

Ancel left the room in a hurry, heading out of the museum. He passed Orlant and subtly nodded, signaling that the pins were real and Lazar was bidding on them. Orlant nodded back, moving closer to where Lazar was in case he needed back up.

Ancel’s part of their little con was finished. Now Lazar would buy the pins and they’d trace the money to the curator’s account, root out his other buyers, and shut his operation down.

Somehow Ancel managed to make it into a bathroom before he pulled out the piece of paper Louans had slipped him. It had a single word-

_Tonight._

Fuck. Ancel flushed the message down the toilet before staring into the mirror.

Nicaise had been right- the bowtie was hideous. Ancel ripped it off and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket before taking the jacket off too. He opened the top few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. He pulled his hair out of its low ponytail so it fell loose and shining down to his shoulders and took off the fake glasses. There. He looked more like himself now, and that already felt better.

Everything was going to be fine. As he turned to leave the bathroom, he felt the drag of his pant leg against the monitoring bracelet around his ankle. At some point during the two years of his arrangement with the police department- with _Berenger-_ the weight had become something of a reassurance. Now it suddenly felt like a shackle.

He left the museum with the jacket draped over his arm and walked the few blocks to the white delivery van marked by some nondescript logo parked in front of a coffee shop. He pulled the doors open and climbed inside.

The inside of the van was dark, lit only by computer screens. It smelled a bit like coffee and sweat, but mostly it smelled of Berenger’s cologne- warm and comforting. Ancel threw his jacket haphazardly over a monitor and sat on the small stool beside where Berenger was watching security camera footage of the museum.

“Alright?” Berenger murmured as Ancel leaned against his side, letting his head rest on Berenger’s shoulder.

Berenger wrapped an arm around his waist and absently reached into one of his pockets to pull out a satin drawstring bag. Ancel took it and started methodically putting all of his rings back on. Maybe it was silly, but each ring made him feel steadier, like putting on armor.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Ancel said, feeling better already. “There was another buyer, but I think Lazar has this in the bag. Orlant is standing by.”

“The payment’s gone through,” Berenger said with a victorious grin. “We’ll have him by tonight.”

He looked up from the monitor for the first time since Ancel had come in only to frown. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.”

“How else would I look in this awful lighting?” Ancel asked with a smile. Berenger didn’t seem convinced so Ancel leaned forward to take his lips in a kiss. “I’m fine, darling,” he said when they parted. “Everything’s fine.”

* * *

The curator hadn’t exactly been a criminal mastermind, so Berenger’s prediction came to pass within the next few hours. The curator was arrested by the end of the day and Berenger’s team went out for drinks at a small cop bar close to the station.

Ancel felt sick to his stomach as he thought about the note, the single word. _Tonight._

But it was dark in the bar, and loud. It wasn’t so difficult to pretend that everything was alright. He hung off Berenger’s arm and laughed at Lazar’s awful jokes and ordered round after round of drinks. 

Predictably, when the clock struck nine Berenger turned to him with an apologetic smile. “I think I’m ready to call it a night, sweetheart.”

“Aww,” Ancel said with a pout. “But we’re having so much fun. We were gonna do shots.”

“I’ll pass,” Berenger said, brushing Ancel’s hair back behind his ear and using the motion as an excuse to cradle the side of his face. Ancel leaned into the touch and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Berenger’s warm calloused palm against his cheek. “You stay if you like. You’ve got keys?”

“Of course.”

“And money for a cab?”

“Stop it,” Ancel laughed. “I’ll be fine.” He leaned forward to kiss Berenger, ignoring Lazar’s drunken cat calls. If Ancel kissed him a little more desperately than usual, Berenger didn’t seem to notice.

Ancel blew him another kiss as he left, then went to the bar for a round of shots. He pretended to drink for the next hour or so, and once he was sure the rest of Berenger’s team was properly sloshed, he slipped off to the bathroom.

The lighting was awful and he cursed under his breath as he picked the lock on his ankle bracelet and made quick work of rewiring it, hooking it into his cellphone so it would keep transmitting his location. He’d figured out how to trick the damn thing ages ago just in case. He’d done it once or twice to test it out. It would work, he just didn’t know for how long.

That done, he slipped the bracelet and phone into a plastic bag and hid it in the toilet tank before climbing out the window.

The night was cool and he’d left his jacket back in the bar. He shivered, rubbing his arms as he got his bearings. The note didn’t have a time or a place, but he knew well enough where Louans expected to meet him.

He needed to go see what the hell Louans wanted and just- get _rid_ of him. And then he could come back for his ankle bracelet and go home to Berenger with no one the wiser. 

Ancel took a deep breath, imagining returning to Berenger’s apartment and climbing into bed with him. Berenger would probably wake up and sleepily murmur something sweet into his ear, pulling him close. And then they might make love, or talk for a bit, or even just go to sleep. And then this strange nerve-wracking day would be over.

But first he had to take care of Louans.

Ancel hailed a cab and made his way to a seedier part of the city, a strip club called the Pet Parlor.

“Hey Red,” the bouncer said as he walked up. He was familiar, but Ancel wasn’t sure what his name was anymore. “Long time no see. You gonna put on a show for us?”

“Not tonight,” Ancel said. “I’m here for a meeting. Is Louans here?”

“Saw him come in half an hour ago,” the bouncer said with an easy shrug. “Knowing him, he’s in room three.”

“Thanks,” Ancel said. His heart was pounding faster than the music that spilled out from the darkness of the doorway. He couldn’t quite make himself step foot over the threshold. He’d promised himself he’d never come here again.

“You alright, Red?” the bouncer asked sympathetically.

Ancel swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He stepped forward.

After that it was easier- walking along the familiar sticky floors, past the bar and the stage where two young women were dancing topless. Past the leering patrons and the waitresses in skimpy outfits carrying drinks. It smelled the same as he remembered- alcohol and cigarette smoke, sweat and desperation. A group of men burst out into laughter at a nearby booth and Ancel flinched before moving forward.

He’d been nineteen when he’d started dancing here, but he’d looked younger. That was what most of the customers liked about him. Not Louans, though. Ancel wasn’t sure what Louans liked about him, just that he’d asked for a private lap dance.

When Ancel had come to room three, Louans offered him two hundred dollars for a blow job. Ancel stared at the cash in his hand for a long moment before looking up at him and batting his eyelashes.

“I’ve never done it before,” he’d said. “So it’ll cost you extra for my first time.”

Louans had smirked and pulled out a few more crisp bills, so Ancel had gone to his knees, and- well.

Louans came back often after that. And then he mentioned other clients. And the pay was good; the work wasn’t terrible. Except for how it made Ancel feel dead inside. He finally quit dancing, though. And he got his own place for the first time in his life. He probably could have kept going for a while, except for how it all seemed to escalate.

The clients got richer and more demanding, more extreme. And through it all was Louans- demanding to fuck him at least once week as his _fee,_ always on his knees with his face buried in the pillows, pulling his hair too hard, going too fast-

And then there was Droet.

He wanted a full weekend and he paid thousands for it. He was filthy rich and not completely disgusting. He lived in a swanky penthouse and had nice clothes, an expensive haircut. When Ancel arrived on friday night they’d had champagne and caviar before Droet had fucked him against the window with the lights on, so anyone who cared to look up would see.

Ancel was used to that sort of thing by then- people showing him off. The rest of the night was normal enough and Droet had been called away for a business meeting the next day, leaving Ancel to snoop around in his apartment for most of it.

There was a safe in his study, behind a painting. There was a day planner in the desk drawer, and at the back of it a list of credit card numbers and passwords written in a rudimentary code. And at the bottom- the combination to the safe.

There was jewelry in there, and stacks of cash, and drugs and a _gun,_ too. For the first time since he’d started escorting, Ancel had felt scared.

He left the safe alone, only to wish he hadn’t when Droet got back. He was in a foul mood that Ancel couldn’t soothe no matter how hard he tried. And then Droet had grinned darkly and brought out the handcuffs.

Even now, nearly a decade later, Ancel remembered it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday- the dread rising inside him like a tidal wave of ice. He’d felt it in his gut that something was about to go horribly wrong. He’d been so afraid, and then he’d taken a slow even breath and it was like someone else had taken hold of his body and he was watching from the outside.

He’d watched, mind and body oddly separate, as he smiled and told Droet to get the bedroom ready while he got changed, and then he’d dragged a console table in front of the door to barricade Droet inside and went to his study to clean out his safe before running.

After that thieving seemed a far more lucrative line of work than whoring, and for a while he’d managed to forget all about Droet, and Louans, and all of it. But he should have known it would catch up to him eventually. He should have known it would be now- during the happiest time of his life.

Ancel hesitated outside the door to room three, where Louans was waiting for him.

He probably just wanted money and Ancel had plenty of it now. He still had at least three accounts that Berenger hadn’t found, racking up interest in the Caymans. All he had to do was pay Louans off and then he was free and clear.

When he opened the door he was hit by the smell of sweat and sex and perfume, stale and cloying. Louans was sitting sprawled out on the sofa at the back of the small room, drinking champagne. For a second Ancel was lost in the past, thinking only of that very first night. For a second he was sinking to his knees with four hundred dollars clutched in his sweaty fist.

Louans smirked and the memory dissolved into nothing. “Ancel,” he said.

“Louans,” Ancel said, willing his voice not to tremble. He took a step closer. Ancel didn’t need to be scared of him. Louans was older now, out of shape. His skin was sallow and droopy, his knuckles gnarled and his breathing a bit labored.

“It’s been a long time,” Louans said, still perfectly pleasant. He patted the sofa beside himself.

“I’m not here to chat,” Ancel said with a scowl. “What do you want?”

“Right to business?” Louans asked with a disappointed little sniff.

“I don’t have time to be fucking around. If you’re after money, just tell me how much.”

“You think money is enough to make up for how you fucked me?” Louans snarled, his eyes flashing with anger.

Ancel didn’t flinch, but that was mostly because he was frozen.

“I had to run too, after your little stunt,” Louans continued. “Droet isn’t a very forgiving man.”

“That was a long time ago,” Ancel managed. “Clearly you’re doing just fine for yourself now.”

“Not as fine as you,” Louans said with an oily smirk. His gaze lingered on Ancel’s fingers, encrusted with jeweled rings. Fuck. He should have taken them off. Except he couldn’t bear the thought of facing Louans without them.

“So what is it, then,” Ancel said flatly. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He needed to be getting back. He should never have come here in the first place. Except now that Louans knew he was in town, he never would have stopped looking. He would have ruined everything.

“You do one more job for me, and we’ll call it even,” Louans said.

“What kind of job?” Ancel asked.

“You know what kind,” Louans said. “One night and that’s it. I’ve got a client who’s looking for a redhead. He likes the carpet to match the drapes.”

“You swear,” Ancel said slowly. “Just the one job, and then you leave me alone?”

“Sure, Red,” Louans said. “You know I’m good for it. Not like some of us.” He finished off his champagne before refilling the glass.

Ancel felt sick as he considered it. Would it be worth it…? One night, a quick fuck. And then it would be over.

Except he couldn’t.

He clenched his shaking hands into fists. He didn’t want to. And most of all- he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t do that to Berenger, couldn’t betray him like that.

And he couldn’t trust Louans, either. He’d have to find another way to deal with this.

“No,” he said. He wasn’t a scared boy anymore, living hand to mouth. He didn’t have to take what the world gave him, he could make his own way.

“No?” Louans repeated. There was something dangerous in his voice.

Ancel took a step back but Louans was already standing, moving faster than any man his age had any right to.

“You don’t get to say _no_ to me, you stupid whore,” Louans hissed, grabbing Ancel by the front of his shirt and yanking hard to shove him onto the sofa. “Did you forget how this works?”

Ancel barely had time to cry out before Louans was on him, bearing down on his throat. He struggled but Louans was bigger, and surprisingly strong. Ancel grimaced and tried to claw at his face, his arms. Louans cuffed him around the side of the head hard enough to leave his ears ringing. He bucked uselessly even as his vision started growing dark, his lungs screaming for air. He was dizzy and terrified, and then the pressure was gone and he coughed, rolling onto his side and wheezing desperately as he tried to fill his lungs.

His eyes were watering and he wasn’t sure what he was seeing was real, but it looked like- _Berenger_ was here.

He had Louans up against the wall, his tie wrapped around Berenger’s fist. He held a gun in his other hand, jammed up under Louans’ chin. It wasn’t his police-issue gun but the one he kept in a safe in his nightstand- a gift from his sister from when he’d passed his detective’s exam.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Berenger snarled.

Ancel shivered as he forced himself to sit up, still coughing. He hadn’t heard Berenger sound like that- so angry it bordered on feral- since the time Berenger had stormed into Paris to break him out of prison.

“What do you care?” Louans wheezed out. “What are you, his new pimp?”

Berenger’s shoulders tightened and he threw a glance back at Ancel, his gaze dark and unreadable. Ancel stared back pleadingly. He didn’t know what exactly he was pleading for. Louans didn’t know that Ancel was working with the police. Nobody knew- nobody but Nicaise and his ring of spies. What would happen if Louans found out?

It could compromise all their investigations, their operations. All the little cons they were setting up to catch art thieves and forgers all over the city. Ancel wouldn’t be able to show his face in criminal circles and then he’d be useless to the department. He’d get sent back to prison, or-

“Yeah,” Berenger said, his voice rough. Ancel shivered and pressed a hand to his face, still smarting where Louans had hit him. His throat was tight and his eyes were watering, but the fear was receding. Berenger was here.

“Jesus,” Louans forced out. “I didn’t know. The little shit didn’t tell me he had a pimp, all right? You’ll get your cut. It’s a good job, I swear!”

Berenger bared his teeth for a moment, leaning forward-

And then he pulled back and flipped the gun in his hand so he was holding it by the barrel, and pistol-whipped Louans across the face.

There was a crack, a scream. Ancel flinched. Louans sank to his knees with a whimper while Berenger stepped back like nothing had happened.

“If you’ve got a job for him- you go through me,” he said coldly. “And if you touch him again, I’ll kill you.”

He put the gun away and straightened his clothing, watching Louans’ blubbering for a moment before he turned and walked over to the couch where Ancel was still sitting. He held out his hand and Ancel took it, letting Berenger pull him to his feet.

Berenger was as gentle with him as he always was, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as they left the club.

Ancel was shaking with fading adrenaline, fighting to keep his breathing steady. God. What had he done? Berenger would think he was trying to run, or- or worse. Betray him. Cheat on him. God. Everything was fucked, _everything._

“Are you hurt?” Berenger asked quietly as they stood on the street. He tilted Ancel’s chin up with gentle fingers but Ancel couldn’t bear to look at him, shutting his eyes instead. “I’m sorry,” Berenger said.

Ancel opened his eyes in shock at that. What the hell could Berenger possibly be sorry for?

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Berenger whispered. “I was just- I saw him hurting you and I- I got so angry. I don’t want you to be scared of me, not ever.”

A cab pulled up and Berenger ushered him inside and told the cabby his address- _their_ address. He wasn’t taking Ancel back to prison or to the station. Even though he’d slipped his anklet, Berenger was taking him _home._

Ancel sobbed, loud and out of control. Berenger held him closer. Ancel hid his face against Berenger’s chest, inhaling the scent of his sweat and his cologne, the familiar scents that had long come to mean _home_ for him.

Berenger was murmuring quietly, nonsense things about how he was safe and how everything was alright. And it was. Despite everything- all the stupid things he’d done- he was alright.

He managed to calm during the car ride, though Berenger never stopped stroking his hair, and then they were outside again and headed up to Berenger’s apartment.

Ancel sat at the kitchen table, cradling his face in his hands while Berenger went to get the first aid kit.

“What happened,” he said quietly as he turned Ancel’s chin up to see the bruising on his neck. He washed it and put some sort of ointment on it before moving on to his face.

There was no possible lie Ancel could tell that Berenger wouldn’t see through. And all of a sudden- he didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to be alone in whatever mess he’d found himself in. No matter what else happened, he wanted to tell the truth.

“That man,” he started slowly. “Louans. He was the second buyer at the gallery. He slipped me a note. I wasn’t trying to run. You have to know, I-”

“Hush,” Berenger said, kissing his knuckles. “I know.”

Ancel sniffled again, leaning forward so their foreheads were pressed together. “I couldn’t- I had to go see him. He knows who I really am. I was scared of what he might do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Berenger asked gently. “I would have helped you. You could have told me.”

Ancel shivered, screwing his eyes shut. “I was- ashamed,” he breathed out at last. “I didn’t want you- looking at me differently. Knowing I’d been. A whore.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Berenger said with a quiet laugh. “Don’t you remember? You told me within the first five minutes of our meeting.”

“I- I- what?” Ancel sputtered. But he remembered now. Remembered slinking over to sit beside Berenger at a hotel bar over four years ago. Remembered hitting on him, and Berenger saying-

_I don’t pay for sex._

And Ancel had laughed and said, _“Don’t worry, I stopped turning tricks years ago.”_

“You were meant to take that as a joke,” Ancel grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Berenger said, smiling.

“How did you even find me?” Ancel asked.

“I checked your tracking data before going to bed,” Berenger said, flushing a little. “I saw you hadn’t moved in twenty minutes, and…”

“And?”

“You want me to explain it in detail so it’ll be easier for you to run off and get yourself into trouble?” Berenger asked.

“You bugged me,” Ancel said accusingly. “Where is it? It’s in my shoe isn’t it. Or my belt. The watch you gave me?”

“Let me have my little secrets,” Berenger said.

He looked so uncomfortable that Ancel couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, darling.”

Some of the tension in Berenger’s shoulders loosened. The ease only lasted for a moment before Berenger was leaning in again, his voice low and intense. ”That man- Louans. Is he going to try to contact you again? About whatever this job is?”

“I don’t know,” Ancel said. “I think you gave him quite the scare.”

“Let’s hope,” Berenger said.

“You’re not- not angry about the anklet?” Ancel asked plaintively.

“I could never be angry with you,” Berenger said, and somehow Ancel knew he meant it.

“Get some rest,” Berenger said, stroking Ancel’s knuckles with his thumb before standing.

“What about you?” Ancel asked.

“I have to go by the bar to pick up your monitoring bracelet.”

“Stay,” Ancel whispered. “We could- we could shower, and-”

“We can’t leave it there all night,” Bereger said gently. “It’ll look suspicious. Where did you hide it?”

“Bathroom,” Ancel muttered. “Third stall, in the tank.”

“Alright,” Berenger said, bending to kiss him once more. “You’ll be alright on your own for a little while?”

“Yes,” Ancel said. He felt so much better already. He wasn’t alone, Berenger was with him. “Come back soon.”

* * *

Ancel didn’t know if he’d hear from Louans again. How would Louans even contact him? At his core, he was a coward. Berenger had made it pretty clear that Louans wasn’t to talk to Ancel, and he hadn’t exactly left his card behind.

The only one who seemed to know anything was Nicaise, but Ancel had no way of getting in touch with him. 

Ancel still had a few friends on the wrong side of the law, and some acquaintances who didn’t hate him or owe him money. He could ask them to try and find Nicaise, but that would only piss Nicaise off and he could be a vindictive little bitch when he wanted to be.

So he was stuck- right up until Lazar walked into the bullpen with a giant bouquet of yellow carnations.

Ancel laughed when he saw them. “Who’s that for?” he asked, looking around at the rest of Berenger’s team as he tried to figure out who had a pissed-off lover.

“They’re for you, Ruby,” Lazar said, plunking the whole thing down on his desk.

Ancel froze, looking at the bouquet like it was about to bite him. “Who brought these?”

“Delivery boy,” Lazar said with a shrug.

“What did he look like?” Ancel insisted, poking through the bouquet carefully. There was a note hidden among the flowers and he slipped it into his sleeve with no one being the wiser.

“Cute,” Lazar said. Of course that would be the first thing he’d say. “Dark curls, blue eyes. Young, maybe early twenties? Short- five four, five five at most.”

Nicaise. Was thinking about him enough to summon him these days?

“You’ve got a secret admirer?” Orlant asked, coming over.

“They’re not from the boss?” Lazar asked.

“You really think he’s the type to send flowers?” Orlant asked.

“Excuse me,” Ancel said testily, feeling the need to defend Berenger’s honor. “He buys me flowers all the time.” By flowers he meant potted herbs, because apparently that was more _practical_ than buying them at the grocery store, but still. Lavender was technically a flower, and the basil smelled nice. “Anyway, you don’t get yellow carnations from an admirer. They mean rejection. Contempt.”

And that Nicaise was a little shit.

“I think they’re pretty,” Orlant said.

“You can have them,” Ancel said, shoving the bouquet towards him. “I need to go powder my nose.”

He locked himself in a toilet stall to read the note.

An address for a park nearby, followed by a single sentence-

_Noon, leave the pigs in the pig pen._

Ancel frowned and slipped the note back into his pocket. Nicaise was an asshole.

It didn’t surprise anyone when he returned to perch on the the edge of Berenger’s desk, distracting him from whatever it was he was looking at. The latest case was check fraud and it was dreadfully boring. If it didn’t glitter, Ancel found it difficult to care.

“Alright?” Berenger asked, looking up. He asked that question differently these days, with something like unease in his voice.

“Change of plans for lunch,” Ancel said, discreetly showing him a note. “We’ll have to push it.”

Berenger frowned and opened his mouth to protest but Ancel pressed a finger to his lips to stop him.

“It’s from an acquaintance of mine,” Ancel said quietly. He kept a smile over his face so any onlookers wouldn’t know anything was wrong. “He was at the gallery. I think he tried to warn me about Louans. He might know more.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“He’ll know,” Ancel said. “He’ll get all pissy and I don’t want to deal with that.”

Berenger smiled wryly. “You’ll be safe?”

“Promise,” Ancel said. “I’ll pick up lunch for us from the Italian place on the way back.”

“Okay,” Berenger said. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry.” Ancel laughed and leaned in to kiss him before grabbing the note and dropping it into the cold cup of coffee standing at Berenger’s elbow.

“Hey,” Berenger said. “I wasn’t finished with that.”

“Yes, you were.” Ancel straightened Berenger’s tie before standing and taking the cup to the kitchen, where he dumped it- note and all- into the sink and turned on the garbage disposal for good measure.

There was still an hour until noon and it seemed to stretch endlessly until Ancel finally gave up waiting and put on his coat, slipping away. The walk to the park took barely five minutes. It was small, roughly half the size of a basketball court. There was a grassy area fenced off as a dog park along with a decent playground. It was mostly empty- this was a business district, not too many families around. But there were a few kids on the merry go round and one on the swings, playing while their mothers chatted on a bench.

Ancel felt restless as he waited, so he gave into a burst of boyish petulance and sat on the free swing, swaying listlessly until he heard Nicaise’s voice behind him.

“Fuck off, kid,” Nicaise said, sending the child in the other swing crying to his mother.

“Rude,” Ancel said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Whatever,” Nicaise muttered.

“You were right,” Ancel said. “Someone is looking for me.”

“Duh,” Nicaise said. “Why do you think I’m here?”

He shoved a bulky yellow envelope towards Ancel, who grabbed it and glanced inside to see a cellphone. It was a cheap flip phone that looked like something from a bygone era. A burner.

His first instinct was to grab it and open it, check the messages, the contacts. But he’d been working with the police for two years now, so he knew that was a bad idea. Berenger would probably want to dust it for prints or something, though Ancel didn’t know what good that would do them.

“Heard about this from a friend of a friend of a friend,” Nicaise said easily. “It’s from your buddy, Louans. He said to give it to you. For your pimp.” Nicaise raised his eyebrows pointedly, looking like he was on the verge of laughter. “I thought you weren’t hooking anymore? I mean- if you’re looking for a job, I’ve got plenty. I could use a redheaded whore in my stable of spies, assuming you’re done playing in the mud with your pigs-”

“You’re not cute,” Ancel said sharply. “This is kind of a huge problem for me, alright?”

“Jesus, relax,” Nicaise drawled.

“When has saying that _ever_ worked?” Ancel hissed. Nicaise just glared at him moodily until Ancel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Is there _anything_ else you can tell me?”

“No. Not yet at least.” Nicaise kicked his feet, swinging a little. The chain creaked above him. “Just- be careful. Things are… stirring.”

“That’s super helpful and specific, thanks,” Ancel muttered. He folded up the envelope with the phone and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket. “Is there a way to contact you, at least? If I need you?”

“Yeah,” Nicaise smirked. “Leave a yellow carnation on your desk.”

“You’re joking,” Ancel said flatly.

“Nope,” Nicaise said, standing from the swing. He glared over at where the child he’d taken the swing from was sitting on top of a slide, glaring balefully. Nicaise scowled. The boy stuck out his tongue. Nicaise scowled harder, then grabbed the swing and pushed it, _hard._ It swung up and over the bar. As it came back down Nicaise pushed it again and it went faster, faster- winding up around the bar until it was out of reach.

The boy started crying.

“You’re such a dick,” Ancel said, not sure if he was amused or annoyed.

“Adversity builds character,” Nicaise said. He flipped the boy off and went on his way.

* * *

Berenger did a poor job of hiding his relief when Ancel returned to the station with two salads and a box of cannolis for the others. He left the treats in the break room as a distraction while he and Berenger retreated to one of the conference rooms.

Ancel pulled the shutters closed while Berenger cleared off enough room on the table so they could eat. That should buy them at least half an hour of privacy while the rest of the office assumed they were fucking.

“Here,” Ancel said, handing over the envelope. “For my _pimp.”_

Berenger froze, looking at the phone. “It’s from him? Louans?”

“Yes,” Ancel said, opening his salad and starting to eat while he watched Berenger staring at the phone.

Berenger reached into his pocket for a pair of gloves, throwing them to Ancel.

“What,” Ancel said.

“You’re going to crack it open and check it for bugs.”

“How would I know how to do that?” Ancel asked, batting his eyelashes.

Berenger rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the innocent with me. You blew it when I saw what you did with the anklet. Go on.”

Ancel sighed and shoved his salad aside in favor of putting on the gloves. He felt a little nervous as he pulled out the small case of lock picks he always kept on him. He glanced up to see Berenger’s reaction but he didn’t seem surprised at all. He only raised an eyebrow and Ancel huffed out a quiet laugh, moving to open the phone’s casing.

It was an old model, it wasn’t even equipped with GPS. After a few minutes of inspection Ancel found nothing out of the ordinary and closed it back up. He was already wearing the gloves so he flipped it open to turn it on. There was nothing- no contacts, no messages. It was brand spanking new, completely untouched.

“It’s fine,” Ancel said, putting the phone back in the envelope and taking off his gloves.

“Maybe we should come clean,” Berenger said. “Take it to Laurent, tell him what’s going on. We could just arrest Louans and be done with it.”

“Arrest him for _what?”_ Ancel asked. “What has he even done yet?”

“Attempted solicitation,” Berenger said with a scowl. “Assault.”

“And your evidence?”

“I _saw him do it,”_ Berenger said, opening his own salad to stab a piece of lettuce with much more force than was necessary. “Eye witness testimony. I’m a _detective-”_

“Fantastic,” Ancel hissed, mindful of the other detectives just on the other side of the flimsy door. “And the data from my anklet will show that I was nowhere near that strip club at the time this supposed assault occurred. Unless you want to tell everyone I slipped it and violated the terms of my release? Then I’ll go back to prison and you won’t get your cock wet for at least another decade. Does that sound fun to you?”

Berenger just sighed heavily, leaving the fork in his salad while he paced the room. “Maybe it won’t be that bad,” he said at last.

“Won’t it?”

“The deeper this goes, the harder it will be to get out,” Berenger said quietly. “I’ve been down this road before.”

“With me,” Ancel said, not sure why his voice was trembling. “You mean you’ve been down this road with me. But it was- it turned out fine. Didn’t it? Didn’t it turn out alright?”

“Oh Ancel,” Berenger said, moving to sink to his knees before him. “Ancel- I have no idea how we got as lucky as we did. I really don’t. But this- this is dangerous.”

“I know,” Ancel said, moving to take Berenger’s hands. “I’m sorry. I’d do it on my own if I could. But there’s something shady going on here. Louans is a coward. He wouldn’t have tried to contact you unless the client was really pushing for it. I don’t understand what’s going on, why they’d want _me._ I just- I just want to figure it out, so we know it’s not something… awful. And then we can go to Laurent.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Berenger breathed out. Ancel reached out to run his fingers through Berenger’s short brown hair.

“Get up, darling,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Before someone walks in here and thinks we’re a couple of out of control horny teenagers.”

“I always feel like an out of control horny teenager around you,” Berenger said with a grin before rising. He took the cellphone, still in its envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. With the damn thing out of sight, Ancel felt almost normal again.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

“When do you think he’ll call?” Berenger asked.

They were sitting at their kitchen table, both wearing gloves and staring at the phone between them like it was a bomb about to go off any minute.

“I don’t know,” Ancel said. “He usually called me in the evenings. Soon, I think.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “How will you answer when he does?”

“What do you mean?” Berenger asked. “Like I usually do.”

Ancel raised his eyebrows pointedly as he waited for that thought to sink in. Usually Berenger answered the phone by saying his name.

“Ah,” he said.

“If you're picking a fake name you want to go with something close to your own, something you won’t forget to answer to. That's a dead giveaway.” Ancel thought for a moment. “Berry?” He suggested tentatively.

Berenger wrinkled his nose in distaste. “...John.”

He laughed at Ancel's incredulous look.

“It's my middle name,” he explained. “My mother insisted on Berenger, my father insisted I have a normal middle name to make up for it. I went by John through most of my school years, until my mother passed and I switched back to honor her.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, surprised. “I didn't know.”

“No,” Berenger said with a wry smile. “Most people don't. But that fulfills your criteria, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Ancel said, covering Berenger's hand with his own. Berenger turned his hand so they were palm to palm. It felt warm and comforting even through the gloves.

They startled when the phone rang and Berenger took a deep breath before taking it.

He flipped it open and put it on speaker. “John,” he said.

 _“Ah,”_ came Louans’ voice, tinny through the cheap speakers. _“John. I never did get your name before. This is-”_

“I know who this is,” Berenger cut him off. “You've got some balls contacting me.”

_“Yes, well. What happened… earlier… was such an unfortunate misunderstanding. I'd hate for it to get in the way of what promises to be a very lucrative deal.”_

Berenger gritted his teeth with a scowl. He was getting angry. Ancel squeezed his hand in reassurance, waving for him to keep talking. He rubbed the fingers of his free hand together to prompt him on what to say next. The main thing pimps always cared about was the money.

“How lucrative?” Berenger asked. His voice was too cold, too disinterested. They'd have to work on his acting skills, but for now Louans was still buying it.

 _“I don't discuss details over the phone,”_ Louans said. _“Perhaps we can meet for a face to face? Tonight? The Pet Parlor, ten pm.”_

It generally didn't look good to take a meeting on such short notice, but Ancel couldn't bear to have this hanging over his head for a moment longer than necessary. He nodded.

“Fine,” Berenger said. “Don’t be late.”

Ancel grinned and pushed up the tip of his nose with his finger. Berenger rolled his eyes.

“No pigs,” he added before hanging up.

“Perfect, darling,” Ancel said, taking Berenger’s tie to pull him into a kiss. “We’ll make a con man of you yet.”

Ancel checked the time- they had a little over an hour before their meeting. He stood and pulled Berenger with him to the bedroom, going through his closet to pick out an outfit. There weren’t a lot of options, but Ancel picked out a fresh shirt for him, as well as a casual jacket.

“Maybe we should get you a purple fur coat with a hat to match,” Ancel joked before going through his own clothing.

“No,” Berenger said decisively as he changed.

Ancel carefully considered what he’d wear. Something stylish but not ostentatious. He pulled his hair back into a messy bun and retouched his make-up, going for a more dramatic look now that it was after work hours. He didn’t want to look out of place at the club. He needed to look pretty and expensive, but not particularly memorable.

Berenger watched while he picked the lock on the anklet and wired it to his cellphone like he had last time. He put the whole contraption in his nightstand drawer while Berenger retrieved his gun and slipped it into his shoulder holster, and then they were ready to go.

They walked a few blocks through the chilly night before hailing a cab, the ride seeming to blur and stretch until suddenly they were in front of the doors of the Pet Parlor.

“Hey, Red,” the bouncer said, running his eyes appreciatively over Ancel’s body before frowning at Berenger. “You,” he said. “You’re lucky Louans didn’t want to press charges.”

“He won’t cause trouble,” Ancel said hurriedly, putting a calming hand on Berenger’s arm. “I swear.”

The bouncer scowled but after a moment’s hesitation he stepped aside and Ancel led the way into the Pet Parlor. Louans was waiting in room three, as usual.

He jerked to his feet when they walked in, pale and sweating as he stared at Berenger. He still had a nasty-looking welt over his face from where Berenger had hit him.

“Mister- John,” Louans stuttered.

Berenger was a storm cloud as he stalked forward and sprawled out over the sofa, raising one arm to drape over the back of it. It couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d practiced in the mirror. The motion shifted his jacket open, revealing the butt of his gun in his shoulder holster. If anything, Louans paled further.

Ancel sat beside Berenger, leaning against him. He probably shouldn’t feel so proud that Berenger was doing a good job of playing the dangerous pimp, but he couldn’t help it.

“Well?” Berenger asked. “Talk.” He set a proprietary hand on the back of Ancel’s neck and Ancel couldn’t help the thrill that sang through him. They’d talked about this, how Berenger was supposed to act. He was supposed to treat Ancel like property. Ancel hadn’t expected him to be good at it. Most of all- he hadn’t expected to _like_ it. He flushed, lowering his eyes as he leaned closer.

“Ah,” Louans said, fidgeting under Berenger’s unimpressed gaze. “Well. It’s a cherry job, like I said. One night, ten grand-”

“You mean twenty,” Ancel interrupted, glaring up at him. “Before your fifty percent finder’s fee.”

Berenger scoffed, standing. They’d talked about that too. The important thing was the money, the cut his _pimp_ could expect. “Is this supposed to be a joke? You think you deserve half while I’m taking on all the risk?”

“Wait-” Louans said, raising his hands placatingly. “I- I’ll lower my rate to thirty percent.”

“Get up,” Berenger said, turning to Ancel. “We’re leaving.”

“Twenty five!” Louans tried.

Ancel stood. His palms were sweating. Was Berenger about to blow this whole thing in a fit of outrage?

“Twenty,” Louans said desperately.

“Try ten,” Berenger said, narrowing his eyes. “And consider yourself lucky I don’t smash your face in for the insult.”

“Alright!” Louans exclaimed. “Alright- ten. That’s fine. Please. Just- sit down.”

Berenger paused, glowering, then lowered himself back into his seat. “What exactly does your client want for twenty grand? I won’t have my merchandise damaged.”

Ancel swallowed his sigh of relief, sitting too. Berenger wrapped an arm around his waist and Ancel leaned into his solid warmth. Despite the situation, the surroundings- the smell of Berenger’s cologne was as safe and familiar as always. Ancel let himself get lost in it, relaxing while Berenger made a show of bartering over him.

“Nothing crazy,” Louans said hastily. “But your little bird has a reputation for being the best, and my client is willing to pay for quality.”

Berenger’s hand tightened over him momentarily before loosening. Ancel flushed, ashamed all over again. It was one thing for Berenger to know about his past, it was another to have him listening to Louans talking about him like he was a piece of meat.

“I want to meet your client,” Berenger said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“Then I’m afraid the deal is off,” Berenger said cooly. “I’m not about to send my Ancel off somewhere sight unseen. I take my job- and his safety- very seriously. If you had too, he’d still be _your_ little bird, wouldn’t he.”

Ancel’s heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he might faint. He was all mixed up in a way he wasn’t used to being. Ashamed, afraid, a little angry. And so turned on he wanted to jump Berenger right then and there.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Louans said.

“Good,” Berenger said. Louans seemed at a loss for words so Berenger raised his eyebrows. “Well? Go on. See what you can do.”

“Yes,” Louans said, nodding. He hesitated a moment longer before leaving.

As soon as the door shut behind him Berenger’s entire manner shifted. Gone was the gangster, instead he seemed nervous as he turned to Ancel beside him. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Was that-”

“Fuck,” Ancel breathed out, practically lunging to straddle him. He wrapped his arms around Berenger’s neck as he moved in for a kiss, their lips colliding with a ferocity that bordered on violence. It was wrong- so wrong for him to be turned on by this.

But Berenger was nothing like Louans, nothing like any of the other men who had bought or sold him. Berenger was warm and true and so painfully _loving_ that it was some sort of illicit thrill to have him here like this, playing at ownership.

Berenger made a quiet sound at the back of his throat and then his arms were around Ancel’s waist, dragging him closer. Ancel whimpered as he tried to take everything he could, but Berenger was steady as always, slowing him down, directing him with a hand buried in his hair. Ancel trembled, suddenly desperate. Berenger tilted his head and sighed and Ancel was helpless to the way Berenger plundered his mouth, taking and claiming all of him.

After an impossibly long moment Ancel forced himself to pull away. He didn’t want to do this here, not with Berenger. Not in the room where he’d been with Louans, with other men. It felt dirty and wrong, and the fact that Berenger was looking up at him with love and awe in his eyes only made it worse.

“Let’s go home,” Ancel said, swiping his thumb over Berenger’s slick bottom lip before standing and taking his hand, pulling him up. He still looked dazed as Ancel led the way back down the hallway to the main part of the club. 

As Ancel stepped out of the corridor he caught a flash of distinctive blonde hair at the bar and jerked back, out of sight. He collided with Berenger behind him and would have fallen if it weren’t for Berenger’s hands on his waist, steading him.

“What is it?” Berenger asked but Ancel shushed him before carefully peering out from behind the corner.

 _Laurent_ was sitting at the bar, smirking as he chatted easily with the bartender. The Pet Parlor didn’t strike Ancel as the sort of place Laurent would go to for fun. That was when he noticed the rest of it. The atmosphere in the room seemed off, a little quieter, oddly tense. On the first sweep of the room he could see at least three men wearing wedding rings.

Men didn’t wear their wedding rings in the Pet Parlor.

Men like Laurent didn’t come to the Pet Parlor at all.

“Fuck,” Ancel muttered, backing up. _“Fuck._ Laurent is here, along with at least three cops, probably more. It’s a sting. There’s about to be a sting.” Fucking _Nicaise._ This was exactly the sort of thing he’d think would be hilarious.

“What now?” Berenger asked. And that was good- at least he wasn’t insisting they turn themselves in like a couple of morons.

Ancel felt a burst of adrenaline jolt through him, hot and trembling. It was the same electric feeling that had filled him four years ago, when he’d walked into the lobby of his hotel and noticed the undercover cops milling about, waiting for _him._ It was the same feeling of rushing anticipation he’d felt weeks later, when Berenger and his team tripped the silent alarm he’d set up in the hallway outside his room.

He still remembered the thrill of pulling the fire alarm, running, crashing into Berenger in the stairwell and kissing him without a care in the world. All the while picking the lock of the handcuffs that connected them as Berenger gasped and moaned against him, too distracted to notice.

Except now Berenger wasn’t an opposing player, they were on the same team. It was the two of them against Louans and his client, Laurent and his cops, maybe the whole damn world. Ancel had never had a real partner before. It felt amazing and terrifying all at the same time.

The world slowed as he took a deep breath in through his mouth and let it out through his nose.

“Come on,” he said with a grin, taking Berenger’s hand and leading him back down the hallway, away from the main part of the club and the cops, past the doors to the private rooms.

Ancel was good- he was the best. And now he had the home court advantage. True- he hadn’t been in the Pet Parlor for years, but it hadn’t changed much.

There was a code to signal police raids and he tapped it out on the doors they passed, grinning as he heard muffled cursing erupt from within. They made for the change room the performers used, Berenger easily keeping pace behind him.

There were a dozen young men and women in various states of undress in the dimly lit room. It was full of smoke and perfume, laughter and dirty jokes. One girl turned at the intrusion, her eyebrows drawing down with a frown.

“Hey-” she started.

 _“Raid,”_ Ancel hissed. The resulting effect was instantaneous- a strangled shriek, a flurry of motion. Drawers were thrown open, their contents gathered in shaking hands as the occupants rushed about. Some went to the bathroom to try and flush drugs and contraband, others stuffed their belongings into their clothes and hurried to dress, preparing to run.

Someone dashed out of the room, no doubt to warn the others- the bartender, the bouncers, the waitresses, the management. The effect would be like a shock bang grenade rocking through the club. In a second Laurent would have a riot on his hands. Ancel could already hear muffled shouting, but all he could focus on was getting _out._

He threaded his way through the chaos, Berenger a silent shadow behind him. There was a lace curtain ahead of them and Ancel threw it open carelessly. It hit a candle and caught fire and Berenger gasped in shock, turning to try and put it out before Ancel grabbed his hand to drag him onwards.

There was a shout, calls for water, the unmistakable sound of a fire extinguisher. It only added to the confusion. The game was up, Laurent’s cover blown. There were sirens in the distance.

“Here,” Ancel said, shoving open a window. There was a fire escape just outside and he climbed out onto it.

“There! Up there!” someone yelled and Ancel looked down into the alley with a hissed curse. There were cops below- of course there were. Laurent had set up a perimeter.

Instead of climbing down, Ancel climbed up. He paused on the roof just long enough to make sure Berenger was still with him and then he was running.

There was nothing like the thrill of the chase. He’d participated in chases, of course, during his time working with Berenger’s team. It wasn’t the same being the pursuer. It was so much more exhilarating to be the one pursued- to outrun, outfox, _outwit._ To face someone who thought they could take you and leave them empty handed.

Ancel saw the surrounding blocks clearly in his mind. The cops on the ground were at a disadvantage- having to go around buildings while Ancel and Berenger could simply go over, across. Berenger’s footsteps behind him were steady and comforting, close. All of a sudden Ancel remembered that Berenger was the only one who’d ever given him a real run for his money, and now they were in this together.

Ancel laughed breathlessly.

He led the way from roof top to roof top, the landscape just about the same now as it always had been.

When he deemed they had a decent lead he took them down a fire escape and across the street towards a biker bar. It was busy despite the fact that it was a work night. Ancel picked the prettiest bike before them- a slick cherry-red model with flames expertly painted on the side- and sat in the saddle before opening the main panel and getting his tools out of his pocket.

“What are you _doing?”_ Berenger hissed.

“Running from the police,” Ancel said, not looking up from his work. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at it.”

“Hey! That’s my bike!”

Ancel didn’t pay the shout any attention. He would have, if he’d been alone. Instead he kept his eyes down, his focus on hot wiring the bike before him.

There was more shouting, a thud of flesh against flesh. The bike roared to life beneath him and he flipped up the kickstand.

“Damn it,” Berenger cursed, sitting behind Ancel and wrapping his arms around his waist.

He could hear sirens in the distance as he revved the engine and they were off. 

Staying ahead of cop cars on a bike was child's play. Ancel weaved through traffic, eyes narrowed into slits as the wind rushed past them. The problem with the police, a problem that he knew intimately, was that there was a lot of them. And unfortunately- they all talked to each other.

The longer the chase went on, the higher the chances of getting caught. At this point, they were in too deep to get caught.

Ancel took them on a winding path, keeping an eye out for a good place to ditch the bike. He saw it a few minutes later- an alley, a dumpster. He slowed and pulled them to a stop, climbing off the bike and wiping down the parts he’d touched, cleaning off his prints before taking Berenger’s hand. They went through the alley and out the other side. They took a detour through a department store, ditching their overcoats for new ones and leaving through a different door than the one they’d come through.

Once they were back on the streets Ancel laughed breathily and took Berenger’s arm.

“Shouldn’t we be running?” Berenger asked.

“That would look a tad suspicious, darling,” Ancel purred. A police car screamed past them and Ancel dragged Berenger into a kiss, obscuring both their faces. It wasn’t really necessary- they’d gotten away clean. But it was fun.

Ancel’s heart was still racing with adrenaline. It was a struggle to keep his steps slow, even. They were just a couple strolling through the night. He managed to keep it together for a few blocks before hailing a cab, and then he was practically vibrating out of his skin as he willed the car to just go _faster._

The only thing he could think about was the chase, the way Berenger had kept up with him so easily. The way he’d played the pimp, strong and dangerous, protective but in a possessive way that Ancel had never seen before.

He couldn’t help it, he set his hand on Berenger’s thigh and leaned in to kiss him. The cab driver made a small sound of displeasure, something like a resigned sigh, but Ancel didn’t care. Berenger didn’t seem to care either, sinking his hand into Ancel’s hair and pulling him closer.

Ancel lost himself to the thumping of their hearts beating in synch, to Berenger’s taste and smell all around him, Berenger’s body under his hands.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but by the time the cab stopped Berenger’s tie was loose around his neck and Ancel’s jacket was half off his shoulders.

Ancel didn’t pay attention to the details of climbing out of the cab, walking. He didn’t pay attention to anything but Berenger’s hand in his until they were inside the apartment and Ancel took him by the lapels of his jacket, dragging him closer.

They kissed, Ancel’s back pressed to the door and Berenger’s hands braced to either side of him, caging him in. One of Berenger’s thighs was between his and Ancel rocked against it with a muffled moan even as he pushed his tongue into Berenger’s mouth. He wanted to keep rutting against Berenger until he came and he wanted Berenger to bend him over a table and have his way with him, to take him to bed, to fall to his knees and suck him off. He wanted to devour and be devoured, he wanted everything and all at once.

“Fuck me,” Ancel whispered shakily. “I need you to fuck me.”

He let his hand drop to massage Berenger’s cock through his trousers, rock hard and scalding. Berenger groaned, the sound rumbling through Ancel to settle somewhere deep in his gut where it made him ache with need.

Berenger pulled back and Ancel chased him, but Berenger had him by the hips and was turning him around so it was his chest pressed to the door instead of his back.

“Here,” Berenger said, taking his wrists to guide his hands to the cool wood, pressing them above his head. “Like this.”

Ancel moaned and screwed his eyes shut, panting harshly as he kept his hands where Berenger wanted them while Berenger pressed himself against his back, rubbing his cock against Ancel’s ass. It was a cruel tease as much as it was perfect. Berenger bent to kiss his neck and Ancel tilted his head to give him more room, moaning louder when Berenger wrapped his arms around Ancel’s chest from behind, his touch hot and seeking, possessive.

Berenger was rough with him, dragging his teeth against the sensitive skin of his neck in a way that sent fireworks bursting behind his eyelids. Ancel whimpered needily at every motion, at Berenger’s hands making their way under his shirt to caress and pull on his nipples before moving down, fumbling with his belt.

His pants and underwear were shoved down his thighs and Berenger’s still clothed cock pressed against him even as Berenger moved to stroke him, his calloused hands so big and warm. Ancel whimpered and tried to push into him, his whole body trembling with the effort of staying still, of keeping his hands pressed to the door. He couldn’t manage even that little, not with Berenger’s free hand holding him by the hips, keeping him pressed against Berenger behind him, trapped.

“Fuck,” Ancel groaned. “Please- please, please just-”

“Easy,” Berenger whispered, and it was a promise as much as it was a command. “Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Ancel trembled in Berenger’s arms, giving himself over. He’d never trusted anyone else like this, never put his faith in promises. But he’d known this was inevitable since the beginning- known it when Berenger had first whispered _I’ll take care of you_ in the sweetest way _._

Ancel had no reason to believe him, then. And still- he had. He’d put his faith and trust in Berenger and had never been left wanting. He’d put his fate in Berenger’s hands time and time again and every time he found himself safe, taken care of despite their differences. Despite the fact that he was a thief and Berenger was the detective bent on catching him. Despite it all, Berenger had only ever wanted the best for him.

Berenger’s hand was still moving over him, steady and firm. His other hand held him still while Berenger ground his clothed cock against Ancel’s bare ass. The fabric of his pants was rough and perfect, his belt buckle digging into Ancel’s skin in a way that felt forbidden and delicious.

Usually they made love, slow and quiet, lovely. Ancel had no complaints, no regrets. He liked making love, liked the way Berenger worshipped his body. It was so different to what he was used to, what he was used to enduring but not enjoying. He was surprised to find he liked this too- the novelty of it, the heat and danger. The urgency.

He cried out when Berenger twisted his hand, rubbing the head of his cock. The door was damp beneath his mouth from his labored breathing, his skin was slick and he was overheated, sweating through his clothes. He wanted to push into Berenger’s hand. He wanted to shove Berenger away and take him to bed and mount him, riding him like a majestic stallion. He wanted Berenger’s hand on the back of his neck in a possessive hold. He wanted- he wanted-

“Yes,” Berenger groaned, broken and perfect. Wanting. “Yes- there you are. Let go for me-”

Ancel shuddered, each muscle in his body tightening only to release, and then enduring it again and again. He came, white hot and blinding, striping the door with his release. He felt ashamed for a brief moment and then he was too full of pleasure to think of anything else.

Berenger was still talking, dripping filthy nonsense into his ear, but Ancel couldn’t hear it. He was lost. His knees buckled but Berenger was there, holding him, lifting him. He felt dizzy as he wrapped his arms around Berenger’s neck while Berenger carried him to their bedroom and laid him out in bed, pulling off his boots and pants, his shirt.

Berenger kissed him, starting at his neck, the marks he’d left with his earlier eager attention. He moved down slowly, lathing Ancel’s nipples with his tongue, shifting between gentle and rough touches with ease. They’d only really been together for two years, but somehow Berenger already knew exactly how to push all of Ancel’s buttons. Somehow he always had, ever since that first night.

His cock stirred weakly as Berenger licked and sucked on his nipples, letting his hands roam freely, carding through Ancel’s copper pubic hair only to pull unexpectedly to get him to gasp.

“Do you want to keep going, sweetheart?” Berenger murmured.

“Yes,” Ancel gasped. The answer was always yes.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as Berenger put away his gun and took off his jacket, his shoulder holster, his shirt. Ancel toyed with the idea of asking Berenger to keep his clothes on, but the vague fantasy of his terrifying pimp fucking him was nothing to the reality of how good it would feel when Berenger’s body was pressed against his, skin against skin.

Berenger toed off his boots and took off his pants, the rest of his clothes. Ancel didn’t even have the energy to arrange himself into a more alluring position. But that was alright, he knew Berenger liked him like this too- fucked out and waiting for more- waiting for _him._ So he waited, every inch of his skin tingling with anticipation

And then Berenger was back and Ancel wrapped his arms around his shoulders, drawing Berenger closer and spreading his legs in invitation. He still felt shaky and weak but he could already feel the curl of desire kindling once more in his gut and the way Berenger was looking at him only stoked it further.

Berenger was heavy over him, his skin hot and slick, his heart beating so hard that Ancel could feel it where they were pressed together.

“You had too much fun tonight,” Berenger murmured, a smile in his voice as he bit at Ancel’s earlobe, tugging on the gold hoop he had through his ear with his teeth.

Ancel laughed giddily. “And you didn’t? Admit it, running from the police is _fun.”_

Berenger muttered something noncommittal, dragging his hand down Ancel’s side.

“You liked it,” Ancel whispered and laughed again. “You liked putting Louans in his place. Are you going to call me your dirty little whore?”

“No,” Berenger said with a breathy laugh, kissing Ancel’s neck. He was gentle now like he hadn’t been earlier. He moved slowly, almost lazily. He was rock hard where his cock was pressed to Ancel’s thigh and Ancel was well on his way to joining him- again.

“How about your naughty slut?”

“No,” Berenger said, kissing his way downwards to suck one of Ancel’s nipples in his mouth.

“Aww,” Ancel managed between gasps. “Didn’t you like being my scary pimp?”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, pulling back to look at him. “If- if you really want me to- to call you- _that._ I… could. Do you want…?”

He looked so nervous and uncomfortable that Ancel could only laugh and pull him in for a kiss. “No,” he said against Berenger’s lips. “No, I don’t. You know how I like you to call me.”

Berenger relaxed, laughing quietly. “Sweetheart,” he whispered and Ancel’s heart sang.

He dragged Berenger in for another kiss, plundering his mouth. He was hard again by then, the desire still building. Berenger reached over for the lube and then there were slick fingers at Ancel’s cock and trailing downwards.

“Ready?” Berenger asked, even though he didn’t need to. He just liked to hear it, Ancel saying yes to him, asking for touch, for pleasure.

“Yes,” Ancel breathed out and Berenger pushed inside with two fingers, slow and steady.

Ancel’s breathing stuttered as he screwed his eyes shut, overwhelmed all over again. They did this all the time, he’d thought he’d be used to it by now. But every time with Berenger felt just as good as the first, every time Berenger touched him it was like he was unwrapping a gift for the first time, awed and delighted, amazed.

“It’s not too much?” Berenger murmured as he crooked his fingers up, rubbing Ancel’s prostate.

Ancel exhaled sharply, arching up into the touch. “No, it’s- it’s not too much,” he managed.

Distantly he was aware that he was hard and leaking, that Berenger was toying with his earring again, biting at his ear lobe. Distantly he was aware of the soft sheets under his back, the pillow beneath his head, the gentle hum of the air conditioner somewhere far away. It all felt distant, because nothing mattered other than the way Berenger was touching him, taking him.

He breathed out a shaky moan, his face burning as he listened to the slick sounds of Berenger pushing in and out of him. From another man it would have seemed almost lazy, but Berenger seemed intent, focused.

“Fuck me,” Ancel said. “Would you please just-”

“Not yet,” Berenger said. “I like you like this.”

Ancel exhaled in exasperation, feeling impatient and way too turned on for his second go around of the night. “We have _work_ in the morning, would you _just-”_

“No,” Berenger whispered.

Ancel whined at a particularly delicious sweep of Berenger’s fingers inside him. He knew this mood, the way Berenger sometimes got. Single minded in his desire to leave Ancel completely boneless and wrung out. There was no hurrying him when he was like this, no way to get him to settle for simple satisfaction when he wanted to leave Ancel utterly wrecked.

So Ancel did the only thing he could do- gave up as he let himself relax into the onslaught of Berenger’s ministrations.

Berenger groaned in response, self-satisfied. He must have felt the way Ancel relaxed into the sheets, into his touch.

Ancel let his mind go blank, letting go of the day, of all his worries. All he could focus on was the way Berenger’s fingers were moving inside him, Berenger’s teeth at his nipple and Berenger’s weight on top of him. He spread his legs wider and planted his feet on the bed, moving with him, _into_ him.

They both moaned at that and Ancel had to yank on Berenger’s hair to pull him up into a kiss.

It lasted for an eternity, long enough that Ancel thought he might come just from this. And then, finally, Berenger pulled back and manhandled him over to his hands and knees, settling between his thighs to push his cock inside. 

The first thrust was slow and delicious, easy. Ancel was so ready that he couldn’t have tensed up even if he’d wanted to. Berenger’s cock was perfect inside him like this, not too big and curved just right. He moaned loudly as Berenger started to move, and then Berenger folded over him, bringing his clean hand to cover Ancel’s mouth while stroking his cock with the other.

Ancel turned his face and Berenger’s hand slipped. He opened his mouth and sucked Berenger’s fingers inside.

Berenger let out a perfect sound, something between a gasp and a moan, and Ancel sucked harder. There was something so good about this- Berenger’s cock in his ass, his fingers in Ancel’s mouth. He felt overwhelmed and completely taken, something that would have been terrifying if he’d been with someone else but with Berenger it was sweet and safe.

The sheets bunched under them, growing slick with their sweat. Ancel’s knees ached and burned a little with the force of Berenger’s thrusts making him shift minutely on the bed. But he wouldn’t give up this moment for anything. He focused on the sweet invasion of Berenger’s cock impaling him over and over, of Berenger’s hand moving over him in time with his thrusts. Ancel breathed out harshly, no longer focused enough to suck on Berenger’s fingers but still enjoying the firm pressure over his tongue.

He made a sound, something desperate and pleading, and Berenger answered in kind. Ancel was so close, his whole body tightening as he ached to be pushed over the edge. He knew Berenger could feel it too. He pushed Ancel’s thighs open wider and sped up, breathing sharply and making small guttural sounds with each thrust.

If Ancel could have brought himself to speak, he’d have been urging Berenger on. But he was beyond that by then. He was lost to sensation, to warmth and pleasure and the animalistic thrill singing through his veins.

It lasted longer than it should have- the heat building and building in his belly like a string pulled taut- until finally it broke.

Ancel spasmed, crying out even though it came out muffled around Berenger’s fingers still in his mouth. He clutched at the sheets so hard he half expected to hear the sound of tearing fabric, and then his muscles tightened and suddenly Berenger’s cock felt impossibly huge inside him, still thrusting.

He might have thrashed a little, in the aftermath he wasn’t sure. All he knew was wave after wave of blinding pleasure that shuddered over him while Berenger fucked him through it, slowing but not stopping, milking him of every last drop.

Ancel moaned loudly, drooling shamelessly to the sheets, not sure if he wanted to get away from the stimulation or move into it, take all of it until he couldn’t bear any more. Distantly he heard Berenger’s distinctive gasp, felt the way his thrusts faltered and stopped.

In truth he didn’t come back to himself for a while yet, and when he did he was lying with his face pillowed on Berenger’s chest while Berenger stroked his hair.

“We should run from the police more often,” Ancel murmured with a sleepy smile.

“No,” Berenger said, but there was no bite to it.

“You liked it,” Ancel whispered, closing his eyes and wrapping an arm around Berenger’s stomach. “Admit it.”

“It was terrifying,” Berenger said after a long time of silence. “And… yes. I did like it. But that doesn’t mean we should make a habit of it.”

Ancel laughed. It took nearly all of his remaining energy to push himself up and aim a messy kiss at Berenger’s lips. It landed on Berenger’s chin and he decided to content himself with the attempt, lying back down where the dizziness didn’t threaten to overwhelm him.

“We’ll try not to, darling,” he managed to say.

Berenger only held him closer, and Ancel smiled as he let himself drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

On the way to work Ancel insisted they stop at a flower shop. Berenger frowned in confusion as Ancel picked out a single yellow carnation.

“Is this about your friend?” he asked. “The one that gave you the phone?”

“Yes,” Ancel said with a frown. _Friend_ was a bit much. He still wasn’t sure if Nicaise had been fucking with him about putting a flower on his desk, but right now that was the only thing he had to go on. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. It’s not a coincidence Laurent showed up when he did.”

Berenger seemed troubled but he didn’t argue as Ancel filled a coffee cup with water and put the carnation in it on his desk.

Throughout the morning Ancel tried to keep an eye out to see if anyone paid the flower any special attention, but the day proceeded as usual. Would Nicaise get a message to him? Would he call? Was this all some kind of stupid prank?

By lunch Ancel was getting antsy, so on a whim he decided to slip out and head back to the park where he’d met Nicaise last time, getting there almost exactly at noon. 

Ancel had half expected to find Nicaise bullying some unfortunate child, but the lack of crying and screaming proved that theory false. Instead there were a few kids playing on the slide, laughing as they ran around. Someone had fixed the swings since the last time he’d been here.

Ancel looked past them towards the dog park, and a bench facing the fenced-in area. The bench was occupied by a man sitting sprawled out to take up nearly the whole seat. He was facing away but Ancel recognized his curls, the particular way the sun played off them. He let out a sigh of relief, walking over to stand in front of Nicaise, looming over him.

Nicaise was wearing a pair of giant pink sunglasses and a stylish wool peacoat along with leggings that looked like they were made of leather. He was drinking a pink smoothie and he raised his eyebrows expectantly as he sucked on the straw, pursing his lips. There was insolent relaxation written over every line of his body. It only made Ancel angrier.

“Ancel,” Nicaise said with a smirk.

“What,” Ancel hissed, “the _fuck!”_

“Excuse me?” Nicaise asked easily. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t,” Ancel said, balling his hands into fists. “You’re not thirteen anymore, the innocent little boy act doesn’t work while you’re wearing leather pants.”

Nicaise had the audacity to laugh. “Well, I had to make sure you hadn’t gone soft.”

Ancel knocked the smoothie out of his hand and it fell to the ground, spilling everywhere.

Nicaise’s expression soured.

“I’m tried of being a pawn in other people’s games,” Ancel said. “Did you really send the police after me just for fun?”

For a long moment Nicaise was silent, and then he shifted a little, making room on the bench. Ancel wasn’t sure if he was reading too much into it, but it seemed like an offer of truce. Carefully, he sat. Nicaise reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of bubble gum. He seemed to be paying a lot of attention to unwrapping it.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked at last.

“Yes,” Ancel said, crossing his legs.

He’d just started stripping at the Pet Parlor and the Regent had come in with a few of his _business associates._ He’d had Nicaise with him, dressed up in a smart little satin suit. Instead of a tie he’d been wearing a bow around his neck, a bright red lace ribbon like he was some sort of gift. He must have been barely thirteen back then. He’d looked even younger.

Ancel had been horrified that someone would bring a child to a strip club, and then Nicaise had sat in the Regent’s lap and the Regent had set a proprietary hand on his hip and Ancel had been horrified for a different reason entirely.

“You spilled a drink on me,” Nicaise said with a faint smile. “And then you took me to the bathroom to help me get cleaned up, and you said- you said you could help me. That you could get me out.”

“And you said _eat shit, old man,”_ Ancel said with a wry laugh. “I was nineteen, you asshole.”

“Yeah,” Nicaise said. He fell silent, the only sound the smack of the bubble gum as he chewed. Ancel wondered what the point of the story had been, why they were going down memory lane. The Regent was in prison, the Regency gang disbanded. Ancel saw no reason to dwell on painful memories, he preferred to look to the future.

“I should have listened to you,” Nicaise said quietly. “I should have let you help me.”

“It’s in the past,” Ancel said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know what I could have done, anyway. I was living with some shitty boyfriend because he let me pay rent with blow jobs. It’s not like I could have given you a better life.”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Nicaise said. He stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ancel.” There was something strange in his voice and Ancel couldn’t help shivering. “You’d be better off in prison.”

Ancel blinked slowly. “ _What?”_

“You’d be safer,” Nicaise continued. “Or you could run, leave the country. I hear Italy is nice. Greece.”

“I’m not leaving Berenger,” Ancel said.

“Take him with you,” Nicaise said with a shrug.

“Nicaise, what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing good, Red,” Nicaise said. “Watch yourself,” he added before walking away. 

* * *

Ancel felt off for the rest of the day, uneasy. Berenger was still working the check fraud case, which meant there was nothing distracting Ancel from his own thoughts, racing endlessly.

Of course Nicaise had to be cryptic and ominous. Was he deliberately keeping Ancel in the dark? Maybe he didn’t know what was happening either but didn’t want to admit it so he could keep up his aura of being the untouchable spy master, the man with all the answers. And if Nicaise didn’t know, it was a safe bet that none of Ancel’s contacts would either.

He found himself dwelling on their conversation, turning Nicaise’s words over and over in his mind. Why had Nicaise brought up their first meeting? Why reference the Regency gang in such oblique terms?

They were gone now, weren’t they? The Regent was gone.

Ancel felt a cold pit of dread weighing down his gut. He didn’t like to think about the night four years ago when he’d found a dead rat nailed to the headboard in his hotel room. In a burst of panic he’d done the only thing he could think of- run to Berenger.

Except he’d seen _Aimeric_ at the station, chatting with some cop Ancel didn’t know, and known that the Regent had sunk his claws into the police force. By then Lazar was already escorting him to an interrogation room and all he could do was wait for Berenger and hope desperately that he hadn’t made a huge mistake.

He’d run off to France after that. While the investigation ran its course Ancel had been slumming it in Paris, scraping together a living stealing wallets from dumb tourists, too afraid to touch his accounts in case the Regent’s men were watching, looking for him.

And then there was the food poisoning, the arrest, the pneumonia. By the time the door to his cell opened and _Berenger_ had stormed inside he’d thought he was finally dead and on his way to heaven.

Between one thing and another, Ancel didn’t really know the details of the investigation into the Regency gang. He hadn’t looked over the documents, hadn’t watched the trial. All he knew were the vague rumors he’d heard while he was in prison, and after that he didn’t particularly care to look into it any further.

But he could, now. He could access the police files and see what had happened.

He glanced around surreptitiously but no one was paying him any special attention. After two years of being on his best behavior, even the more suspicious cops had started seeing him as one of their own.

So it really wasn’t so hard to log into the system and pull up the files.

There was so much information it was overwhelming. He skimmed the list of arrests, the mugshots. It was a strange jolt to see the familiar faces of people he’d been so afraid of, standing tense and disgruntled under harsh lighting. Cuffed and rendered harmless.

The Regent’s mugshot looked different. He was smug in his photo, his blue eyes boring into Ancel’s very soul. Ancel shuddered and hurried to close the picture.

There was a list of charges, an inventory of the items recovered from the warehouse that the Regency gang used as their headquarters. There were the usual things- drugs, money, guns. There were boys, too. Ancel didn’t linger over the list of their names but he recognized a few. Erasmus, Kallias, Isander. He’d seen them a few times when the Regent and his people had come to the Pet Parlor. He was pretty sure the three of them were working for Nicaise now.

And then there were the testimonies- hours and hours of footage. Ancel didn’t have time to look through it all and he didn’t want to, though he was briefly intrigued by a set of files marked _Witness N_. Nicaise? 

He opened one video to see he was right, it was a video feed from one of the interrogation rooms. Nicaise was sitting across the table from Laurent, slurping a smoothie while Laurent nodded and took notes.

He wasn’t on the witness list for the trial, though. And that was just like him- helping from the shadows while keeping himself out of the public eye. It was surprising he’d even dealt with the police at all.

There wasn’t anything particularly interesting after that. The trial dragged on for weeks, and finally- the conviction. The Regent was sentenced to three consecutive life sentences. The papers raved about the spectacular finish of the investigation. There were a few glowing puff pieces about the bravery of Detective Laurent and his team, along with a mention of Berenger’s part in initiating the internal investigation, and that was that.

Ancel sat back with a sigh of relief. The Regent was in prison. Surely he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore? Or could he?

Did he have men on the outside? But if he did, surely he would have gone after Ancel and Nicaise and all the others long before now. Just in case, Ancel pulled up the information about where the Regent was being held.

He blinked a little at the word under the Regent’s picture, written in bold red letters.

_Deceased._

He’d been killed a month ago in a prison riot.

Ancel shivered, shutting everything down. He should have felt relieved but he only felt uneasy. A man like the Regent should have been running that prison by now. But instead he was dead?

It didn’t make sense.

He flinched when a hand fell to rest heavily on his shoulder and looked up to see Berenger watching him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ancel said, too quickly. Berenger frowned. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Ancel said with a forced smile.

He tried to make himself believe it. The Regent was dead, Nicaise was an asshole, and Berenger was going to make steak for dinner because it was friday night and he always made steak on friday night. The world would keep turning, and everything would be just fine.

“Come on,” Ancel said, standing. It had grown late while he’d been lost in the past. The day was over, it was time to go home.

* * *

Berenger made steak for dinner, because it was friday night and that was how the world worked. It was delicious, as usual. They got a little tipsy on a bottle of Merlot that Ancel might have stolen from the cellar of a particularly talented art forger they’d arrested a few weeks back. Afterwards they turned on some silly movie and ended up making out on the couch, and then they did other things on the couch.

The sweat had barely cooled on their skin when a phone call popped their bubble of contentment.

For a moment Berenger looked confused.

“John,” Ancel said sharply and they both flinched. It was the other phone- the phone Louans had sent them.

Berenger pulled it out of the pocket of his discarded jacket while Ancel shut off the T.V.

“John,” Berenger said, answering the phone.

 _“Mister John,”_ Louans said, sounding sly and self satisfied. _“I’ve talked to my client. He’s willing to meet with you.”_

“When,” Berenger said.

_“He’s available tonight, at eleven.”_

Berenger and Ancel shared a look. Another last minute meeting. “Where,” Berenger said.

_“Do you know the Gaslight Lounge?”_

Ancel nodded. It was a small cocktail bar a few blocks away from the Pet Parlor. It had private rooms ideal for private meetings, but the main part of the bar would be packed. It was a good meeting place.

“Yes,” Berenger said.

_“Fantastic. See you then.”_

With a click the line went dead.

Berenger groaned, dropping the phone to the coffee table. “What if we just… didn’t go.”

“We have to go, darling,” Ancel said regretfully, sitting up and pulling on his long-discarded shirt. “We’ll just see who the client is. It could be something completely harmless, just a random client and we’ll just say no. If it’s someone I know… we’ll decide how to handle it from there.”

Berenger sighed and sat up too. They trudged to the bedroom to get cleaned up and changed, all hopes of a nice evening in completely destroyed.

They reached the Gaslight Lounge ten minutes before eleven. Louans was waiting for them just inside, smiling with something like relief even though there was still tension around his eyes. He took them back to a private area, walled off from the main part of the bar by thick velvet curtains.

Ancel couldn’t help holding his breath as Louans ushered them inside.

There was a small round booth, and one man waiting for them.

At the back of his mind Ancel had been expecting the Regent or one of his men, maybe Droet. He hadn’t been expecting a slightly overweight nondescript man in glasses that were comically thick. The tension in his shoulders loosened and Berenger threw him a quick glance. He’d noticed that Ancel wasn’t nervous anymore.

Ancel spared him a barely noticeable smile. He shouldn’t have been so worried after all. It was just some random rich guy who’d heard about him from somewhere and decided he wanted a taste. That was nothing special.

They still made a show of sitting down and ordering drinks that neither of them touched. Berenger grilled the guy for a while, doing a good job of making every question sound like a vague threat. He was good at that. Ancel had watched him interrogating suspects plenty of times. Sometimes it was sweet, insinuating. Sometimes it was like this- harsh and unfriendly. Those times Ancel would be the so-called good cop, getting the perps to talk when Berenger made a show of storming angrily out of the room.

Berenger drew it out to a little under a half hour, and then he sighed with a decisive shake of his head.

“No,” he said at last. “I don’t think this job is for us. You’re not my sort of clientele.”

“Excuse me?” Louans demanded, shocked. The client just blinked up at them owlishly as Berenger stood, Ancel following him.

“You heard me,” Berenger said. “I said no. Don’t contact me again.”

He pulled out the phone Louans had sent and dropped it into his untouched glass of whiskey before setting a hand on the back of Ancel’s neck and steering him away.

Ancel laughed when they stepped outside. The air was cool and fresh, the night was young. He was free.

“Let’s go dancing,” he said with an easy smile.

“Let’s go dancing tomorrow,” Berenger said. “Tonight I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”

Ancel laughed again, giddy with relief. He threw his arms around Berenger’s neck and pulled him in for a long kiss.

A taxi pulled up and Berenger gave him one last kiss before turning and grabbing the handle. He jerked his hand back with a hiss, tensing.

“What-” Ancel said, leaning closer. Berenger was staring at his hand. There were pinpricks of blood on his fingers, like needle marks.

The world stuttered to a stop. There was a rushing in Ancel’s ears. Berenger swayed on his feet.

Ancel cried out, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. And then he felt it too- a sharp stab in his arm, there and gone in a second. The effect was nearly instantaneous. He felt woozy, fading fast. He tried to turn to see what had happened, who’d attacked them-

His vision was too blurry and it was so dark. He opened his mouth to scream with the last of his strength but there was a hand clamping down over his lips, reeking of smoke and sweat. The world shifted, he was being shoved into the cab. He was still holding on to Berenger’s sleeve and he willed himself not to let go no matter what, and then there was darkness.

* * *

Ancel woke slowly. His head was pounding, his mouth was full of cotton. Everything hurt. He was sitting on a cold metal chair. The air was cold too, damp. He tried to flex his hands, his feet, but he couldn’t move. He was tied down.

He opened his eyes, trying to keep his breathing steady. The first thing he saw was Berenger sitting across from him. He was tied to a chair too. Tied and gagged. He had a sluggishly bleeding cut over his temple but he was awake. He made a muffled sound and looked to his right. Ancel turned and looked too.

There was a man sitting in a comfortable lounge chair like he was sitting in a throne. He had dark hair, a closely cropped beard streaked through with white, piercing blue eyes. The Regent.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, little bird,” he said.

Ancel drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, his mind racing. He was fucked. He was so so fucked. And he’d dragged Berenger into it too. 

The Regent stood, walking closer. Ancel flinched and screwed his eyes shut when the Regent reached out to stroke the side of his face.

“You had such promise,” the Regent said sadly. “But then you had to go squealing to the cops. What a shame.”

Ancel’s skin was crawling. Berenger made a muffled grunt, fighting against his bonds. It was no use.

“I see you’re not dead,” Ancel managed. The only thing he could do now was keep talking. If he could just keep the Regent talking, he might find some way out of this. “The records say you were stabbed fifteen times in a prison riot.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” the Regent asked, sniffing with disinterest. “Spend the next fifty years digging a tunnel with a fork? Who has the time?”

“What do you want?” Ancel asked.

“It’s so simple,” the Regent said with a nasty smirk. “I want to show you what happens to little birds who sing songs they’re not supposed to. You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble. You and your pet cop. What do you think will be more fun? Shall I torture him to death first so you can watch? Or will it be the other way around?”

Ancel recoiled in horror as he imagined it, being forced to watch the Regent take Berenger apart while he was powerless to do anything about it. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, but he wasn’t some blushing virgin, new to the game. He was a whore, a liar, and a thief. He was the fucking _best._

He took a slow breath- in through his mouth, out through his nose. The buzz of fear and anxiety faded and he gave himself over to the feeling of strange calm that always took him in moments like this. He was playing the game. It wasn’t playing him.

“You mean your pet Nicaise caused you trouble,” Ancel said. He couldn’t bear to look at Berenger, confused and hurt before him. So he looked only at the Regent, focusing on all the minute changes of his expression, the way his eyebrows drew down at the mention of Nicaise’s name. So that was a still a sore spot. Good.

“You think I sang? I only told them about Aimeric. But sweet Nicaise spilled all your secrets in return for a smoothie. I’ve seen the tapes.”

The Regent breathed out sharply. “Nicaise,” he said with a hateful scowl. “Alas, it seems he’s out of my reach. No one’s seen him in years.”

“I’ve seen him three times in just the past week,” Ancel countered. “I could find him for you. We can make a trade. I’ll trade you Nicaise for Berenger.”

The Regent paused, considering it.

“You know you want him more than you want me,” Ancel pushed. “I’ll give him to you. I swear it.”

“...Interesting,” the Regent said at last. “That’s very interesting.”

Ancel smirked as victory sang through his veins. “Do we have a deal?”

“I won’t stop coming after you.”

“I know,” Ancel said. “But I’m willing to bet on a head start.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then the Regent laughed. “Alright,” he said at last. “Have it your way. I’ll trade you your pet cop for Nicaise.”

“I’ll need two days,” Ancel said, hedging his bets. “And then you’ll have him.”

“No,” the Regent said. “You’ll give him to me by sunrise or your cop dies.”

Ancel chanced a glance at Berenger, at his disgruntled frown, the way he shook his head. His eyes were flashing with anger and fear. No doubt he’d want Ancel to run and leave him here.

That wasn’t an option.

“Deal,” Ancel said. “Dawn. We’ll meet on the Seventeenth Street Bridge to make the exchange.”

The Regent paused, and then he laughed. “Deal,” he said. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and moved to cut the ropes keeping Ancel tied down. For a moment he considered fighting, trying to overpower the Regent.

But he’d never been very good at that, and he had no idea where they were- how many men were waiting outside. He stayed put obediently until the Regent bid him to rise. He stood, rubbing at his aching wrists.

The Regent whistled and a man stepped into the room.

“Touars will keep an eye on you,” the Regent said. “Don’t cause me any trouble, and maybe you’ll both live to see the sunrise.”

“Sure,” Ancel said, nodding. He forced himself not to look at Berenger as he left the room.

* * *

They blindfolded Ancel before shoving him into a car.

“Where to?” Touars asked in a rough voice.

Ancel licked his lips nervously. He needed every advantage he could get. He needed the home court advantage. With great reluctance, he told them Berenger’s address.

The car ride seemed to take forever. He tried to pay attention to the turns they were making so he’d know where they were keeping Berenger, but it was impossible. After what seemed like an hour the blindfold was removed and Touars was following him into their building, the car leaving.

“This better not be a trick,” Touars muttered.

“It’s not,” Ancel said. “I’ve got a burner stashed in the bedroom. It’s the only way to get in touch with him.”

He led Touars into the elevator, waiting tensely as the old thing groaned, taking them up. He didn’t have keys so he pulled his lock picks out of a hidden compartment in his boot, and then he was leading Touars inside.

He reached out to hit the light switch. There was a shelf by the door. Berenger kept a taser on it.

Ancel grabbed it before turning and shocking his designated babysitter. Touars groaned and fell to the ground. Ancel dragged him over to the window and cuffed him to the radiator with the extra cuffs Berenger kept in his nightstand.

And then he was off, starting up Berenger’s computer. His mind was racing.

Berenger had bugged him. He searched through Berenger’s files to try and figure out how. Finally he found the program, only to be greeted with a login screen. He sighed sharply. He should have made Berenger tell him the details ages ago, after that first unfortunate meeting with Louans.

He stared at the login, frustrated. Username. Berenger always used the same username for everything- _Berenger._

Ancel typed it in. It went through. And now he was staring at the screen asking for the password. Ancel wanted to rip his hair out in frustration. Berenger was the sort of man who’d come up with a random sixteen digit alpha-numeric code for his password. If that was the case, then they were both fucked. But Berenger was oddly sentimental at times, too. Ancel went with his first hunch, typing in his own prisoner ID from when he’d been incarcerated.

He held his breath as he hit enter. The loading wheel spun around and around… and then it opened. Ancel laughed. He was staring at the record of his own movements for the past twenty four hours. Which meant he now knew the exact address of where the Regent had been keeping them.

It was a warehouse close to the docks. Berenger was there now, tied to a chair while the Regent and his minions hopefully left him alone.

Panic rose in a wave but Ancel pushed it down, away. Panic would do him no good. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He was playing the game. It wasn’t playing him.

What he needed was Nicaise and all his little friends. What he needed was _back up._

He didn’t have time to be playing Nicaise’s bullshit games with the yellow carnation on his desk. He needed to figure out the _truth._

Nicaise had a contact in the department keeping an eye out for him.

Who?

Not Lazar, he was too… _Lazar._ Not Orlant either, he wouldn’t risk his family. Not anyone else Ancel could think of- they were Berenger’s men, most of them so proper they wouldn’t even jaywalk much less work with someone as shady as Nicaise.

It had to be someone else.

Ancel thought of the way Nicaise had sent Laurent after him at the Pet Parlor. There was no way to organize a raid within a few hours. He knew that from personal experience. Laurent had been _ready-_ maybe weeks in advance. How could he have been ready? Was it a coincidence, or had someone tipped him off?

It wasn’t a coincidence that Laurent had been the one to interrogate Nicaise.

“Fuck,” Ancel breathed out.

Laurent.

It had to be Laurent.

He checked on Touars in the main room. He was still out cold and would be for a while. Ancel searched through his pockets for his phone and smashed it with the heel of his boot. Touars wouldn’t be calling for help any time soon.

Ancel considered putting his anklet back on before he went to Laurent, but in the end it was pointless. He’d broken so many rules already that if he survived this, he’d be going back to prison for good. No need to have the added evidence of the anklet recording all his comings and goings. Besides, their designated meeting spot with the Regent was outside his allotted perimeter and he couldn’t have a bunch of cops showing up out of nowhere to get them all killed.

He checked the time- it was past one in the morning. There were only a few precious hours left before sunrise and he needed to make the best of them. He went to the bedroom to change hurriedly. This might be his last night in the land of the living, the least he could do was leave a pretty corpse.

He put on his favorite silk shirt, a pair of high waisted trousers and a waistcoat, a fashionable knee-length jacket. He didn’t have time to touch up his makeup but he grabbed his lucky earrings, slipping them on as he made for the door. He kept the taser with him, just in case.

Ancel hailed a cab and tried not to vibrate out of his skin as he waited to get to Laurent’s place. He lived in a nice building, so Ancel had to delay for another ten minutes as he charmed the doorman into letting him go upstairs.

He picked the lock, slipping into Laurent’s apartment like a shadow. It was dark and Ancel blinked as he looked around to get his bearings. He was in a living room with a kitchen to his left, a hallway to his right. He turned to the right. The first door he opened was a bathroom. There was only one door left.

“Laurent,” he called out, throwing open the last door and switching on the lights.

He drew up short, raising his hands when he was confronted with two guns aimed at his face. Laurent was in bed with a giant animal of a man, dark skinned and built like a prize fighter.

“Jesus,” Laurent said, lowering his gun and rubbing his temples. The other man was slower to follow, but he set his gun down too, looking perplexed. “Ancel. What the hell are you doing?”

“Holy shit,” Ancel said, staring at the dark skinned man. “You’re sleeping with Damianos? The heir to the Akielon smuggling ring?”

“We’re going legit,” Damianos said with a frown.

“Holy shit,” Ancel said. “First Nicaise, now this. You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve, huh.”

“Ancel,” Laurent said sharply.

“I mean- is everyone in the department sleeping with convicted criminals or is it just you and Berenger?”

 _“Ancel,”_ Laurent hissed, glancing at Damianos beside him.

“The department?” Damianos said, his eyes widening. “You’re a cop?”

Laurent looked horrified and Ancel looked back and forth between the two of them suspiciously. He couldn’t tell if Damianos was actually serious or if this was some sort of joke. How could he not have known?

“You know what, we don’t really have time of all of _this,”_ Ancel said, waving his hand towards the bed. “I hope you’ve still got some firepower, Damianos. We’ll need it. And we’ll need Nicaise and his boys, too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Laurent demanded.

“I’m talking about the Regent,” Ancel said.

“The Regent’s dead,” Laurent said.

“No, he’s not,” Ancel said. “He’s back. And he has Berenger.”


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Berenger tried to keep his head down as he tested the bonds around his wrists. It felt like zip ties, the sharp edges of the plastic cutting into his skin. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but given enough time he could probably break out.

The Regent had left soon after sending Ancel away, but he’d left behind some overgrown lackey to guard him. Berenger watched out of the corner of his eye as the man fiddled with his phone. If Berenger could get out maybe he could knock the guy out, take the phone, call the police and damn the consequences.

If Ancel knew what was good for him he’d be three states over by now, which meant he was probably off somewhere looking for whoever Nicaise was supposed to be.

“Don’t,” the lackey growled.

Berenger narrowed his eyes, glaring. Maybe he could provoke the man into killing him, and then the Regent would have nothing to trade and Ancel would have no reason to return for him. It was a little difficult provoking someone while he was still gagged so he redoubled his efforts to break the zip tie, twisting his wrists to try and get the right leverage.

“Stop it,” the lackey said, standing.

Berenger glared harder. The lackey came over and backhanded him over the face hard enough to knock over his chair. Berenger groaned, closing his eyes for a moment at the sharp pain in his cheek and his entire left side where he’d landed hard on the floor.

The giant of a man grabbed the back of the chair to drag him back up. “Wanna go again, pig?” he asked with a nasty smirk.

Berenger clenched his hands into fists.

“If you don’t settle down I’ll have them give you another dose of ketamine,” the man threatened.

Berenger felt his fingernails digging into his palms as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He’d be better off awake than passed out. It was a struggle but he closed his eyes and waited. Time seemed to stretch endlessly while he had nothing to occupy himself with except for his own racing thoughts. Where was Ancel? What was he doing? Was he safe?

The door opened and he looked up to see the Regent returning.

“Let’s go see if your boy delivers, hmm?” the Regent asked with a smirk. He snapped his fingers and a pair of thugs came forward to drag Berenger up. They marched him through the warehouse and out to a black town car.

There was no point struggling as he was shoved inside. They didn’t bother blindfolding him which didn’t bode well for his chances of survival. If they didn’t mind him seeing where they’d been keeping him, that meant they didn’t think he’d be able to talk at the end of the ordeal.

Berenger had never felt more powerless than he did while they sped through the quiet streets. By the time he was dragged out of the car the sky was starting to lighten with the coming dawn.

The air smelled of salt and fish, the breeze was sharp and frigid. Berenger desperately searched for a way out as he was pulled forward towards a bridge by two of the Regent’s men. The Regent himself was behind him, no doubt using him as a human shield.

The sun was rising ahead of them, silhouetting three figures waiting in the middle of the bridge. Berenger squinted as he tried to make out who they were.

Ancel was the only one he could recognize, his firey hair catching the light of the rising sun. There were two figures standing in front of him with their faces obscured by cloth sacks. Their hands were behind their backs like they were tied. 

Berenger frowned in confusion. He could just make out Ancel’s smirk before someone kicked him in the back of the knee and he went down with a grunt. The Regent stepped behind him, holding his head up by the hair with one hand while he held a gun to his temple with the other.

“What’s this, little bird?” the Regent called out. “I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” Ancel replied. He moved to uncover the face of the first man. He had dark curls and blue eyes, a scowl over his face. Based on the Regent’s satisfied intake of breath, Berenger assumed he was looking at the infamous Nicaise.

“What’s behind door number two?” the Regent asked.

Ancel revealed the other man’s face and Berenger jerked in shock. It was Laurent.

What the hell was going on? Berenger could only watch the strange scene play out, hoping Ancel knew what he was doing.

“You get to pick one,” Ancel said. “In return for Berenger. The other will be my insurance that you’ll let us walk away.”

“I could just kill all of you right now,” the Regent said.

“I don’t think you will,” Ancel said easily. “You’ll want to make it slow. You’ll want to make it hurt. So pick one.”

“Fine,” the Regent hissed. He bent and took Berenger by the upper arm, dragging him up so he was standing. “I want Laurent.”

Laurent scowled and Ancel shoved him in the back. “You heard him,” he said coldly. “Walk.”

Laurent started walking. Berenger felt a push of his own and he stumbled, fighting to stay balanced with his hands tied behind his back.

“Go,” the Regent said.

Berenger went. He stared at Laurent coming closer, trying to figure out what was going on. Ancel hadn’t _kidnapped_ two people, had he? This had to be some sort of trick. Laurent’s face was unreadable. He was pale, his eyebrows drawn down. Berenger stared at him intently. Laurent stared back. Just as they passed each other Laurent gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

 _“Go,”_ he whispered without moving his lips.

Berenger kept walking. They passed each other. Ancel was in front of him, his hand on Nicaise’s shoulder. When Berenger got close enough Ancel grabbed him, moving to stand half in front of him. Berenger stumbled, letting himself lean against Ancel’s side as he turned.

Now that he was behind Nicaise, he could see that the young man’s hands weren’t tied at all. He was holding them behind his back with his wrists crossed. In his right hand, he held a gun.

“Perfect,” Ancel said. He kept one hand on Nicaise’s shoulder and the other on Berenger’s arm as he started slowly walking them backwards. “Fantastic. Everyone got what they wanted. So we’ll be on our way now.”

Were they actually going to leave Laurent behind?

Berenger turned to look at Ancel but Ancel’s eyes were trained straight ahead. The Regent was smirking, one hand buried in Laurent’s golden hair as he yanked Laurent closer.

“Ah, but I didn’t get _everything_ I wanted, did I,” the Regent said. He raised his gun, pointing it at them. “Why don’t you go ahead and send over Nicaise?”

“Motherfucker,” Nicaise hissed hatefully. “Plan B.”

“Let’s go straight for plan C,” Ancel muttered back. He tilted his chin up and yelled to the Regent. “Get fucked!”

After that everything seemed to happen all at once. Laurent headbutted the Regent in the chin and Nicaise stopped pretending to be tied. He brandished his own gun, taking down one of the Regent’s men. Ancel shoved Berenger behind him and Berenger barely managed to stay on his feet, falling against the railing of the bridge.

The Regent hit Laurent in the face with his gun and he went down with a muffled groan. His other lackey was shooting, but thankfully his shots went wide.

“Hurry up!” Nicaise yelled.

Ancel pushed Berenger onwards.

“Now!” Nicaise yelled. “Let’s go! Now! Hurry up!”

Berenger had no idea what the hell he was talking about and then Ancel shoved him _hard_ and he realized they were planning on jumping off the bridge. He balked- they couldn’t leave Laurent behind.

 _“Go,”_ Ancel said furiously.

The Regent raised his gun and fired at them. Berenger could only watch in horror as Ancel moved to cover him with his own body, his emerald eyes widening as he stumbled.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Nicaise yelled. He dragged Berenger away from where Ancel had fallen to his knees on the pavement, gasping for breath. Berenger fought to get to him but he’d been awake nearly twenty four hours, his body still wracked with pain and his muscles weak and shaky from the after effects of the drugs.

Nicaise seemed preternaturally strong as he shoved Berenger up against the barrier.

The Regent’s men were coming forward. Laurent was on the ground, Ancel too. Ancel was on his hands and knees, wheezing. The Regent’s men were coming towards him.

“Go!” Nicaise yelled and pushed, _hard._

Before he knew what was happening, Berenger was falling.

The water of the river below met him and he was sinking into a sea of ice, not sure what was up and what was down. It was only through some miracle that he managed not to gasp in a lungful of water in shock. He floundered wildly, trying to kick up to the surface. 

He couldn’t swim with his hands tied behind his back.

It was so dark- the water murky and foul around him. His shoes were dragging him down, his coat. He tried to struggle out of them but it was impossible, his entire body going numb with the cold.

And then there were hands on him, hauling him up.

He broke the surface with a desperate gasp, choking on the sodden gag as he tried to breathe through his nose instead. There were more hands. He was dizzy and confused as he was dragged upwards, up into a boat. Someone pulled his gag away.

He coughed up foul tasting river water as he tried to catch his breath and get his bearings. Nicaise was beside him, soaked through and shivering. They were in a speed boat with two very attractive young men, one pale with honey blond curls, the other with dark skin and hair.

“Get us out of here, Erasmus,” Nicase ordered and the blonde went to the controls, starting up the boat while the brunette brought over two blankets. “Isander- Plan D,” Nicaise said, his teeth chattering as he wrapped the blanket around himself. Berenger was still dazed as the dark haired man cut his hands free and draped a blanket over him. The boat rumbled to life beneath him and he felt panic take over.

“Ancel’s still up there,” he said hoarsely, looking up at the bridge. Ancel had gotten _shot._ How badly, Berenger didn’t know. “And Laurent-”

But they were moving quickly now, moving _away._

“No,” Berenger said, trying to scramble out of the boat only for Nicaise to grab him and drag him back into a seat. “No- we have to-”

“We don’t _have to_ anything!” Nicaise yelled. “I told him to run, I _told_ him-”

He sighed, closing his eyes. Berenger could only stare.

“God,” Nicaise said. “You’re a fucking pair, aren’t you. Well. Everything’s gone to shit. But don’t worry. There’s still Plan D.”

* * *

Ancel came awake strapped to a chair, which was never a pleasant thing to wake up to. He was glad that Laurent had insisted he wear a bullet proof vest even though it ruined the lines of his waistcoat. Still- Laurent could have warned him that getting shot would still feel like a _bitch._ He couldn’t seem to draw in a deep breath, his ribs aching sharply when he tried.

At least he wasn’t dead, though. Not yet.

He could tell immediately- his earrings were gone. His rings were gone, along with the rest of his jewelry, even his watch. His belt was missing too, and so were his shoes and socks. He curled his bare toes against the rough concrete with a shuddering gasp.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” Laurent muttered from behind him.

Ancel turned his head, blinking slowly as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening. He was tied to a chair in the middle of a dark empty room. He could make out Laurent behind him, similarly inconvenienced. If Ancel strained, he could just barely brush the tips of his fingers against Laurent’s.

“What plan are we on?” Ancel asked.

“No clue,” Laurent said. “Can you get us free?”

Ancel tested the bonds keeping him tied. Nylon ropes, by the feel of it. They were wrapped tight, the knots out of his reach.

“No,” he said with a sigh. But that was alright. They’d given the address of the Regent’s warehouse to Damianos. His people would be ready to storm the place by now like knights in shining armor. All they had to do was wait.

“Shit,” Laurent hissed, shifting restlessly.

“What’s the matter?” Ancel asked. “We just wait, and-”

“Hate to break it to you, Ruby,” Laurent said with a sigh. “I think they took us somewhere else.”

“So… no one knows where we are?” Ancel asked in a small voice. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He was supposed to be on a boat with Berenger and Nicaise and Nicaise’s sexy friends, sailing off into the sunset while Laurent was taken back to the Regent’s warehouse where his Akielon boyfriend and all his boyfriend’s scary thugs were waiting to take the Regent out.

“No one knows where we are,” Laurent said.

After all their carefully laid plans, somehow everything had gotten fucked. Ancel felt a wave of despair rising through him. There were tears prickling at his eyes. He sniffled.

“Shit,” Laurent said. “Are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Ancel managed while tears slipped down his cheeks. He sniffled again. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. But now he was tied to a chair somewhere and he was out of cards to play. He’d never really thought this was the end, but now it felt real and inevitable like never before.

“Stop crying,” Laurent said, his voice rising incredulously.

Ancel sobbed.

At least he’d gotten Berenger out. At least he’d done that much.

He tried to take comfort in that instead of imagining his inevitable demise. It would be horrible. It would take forever. No amount of slow breathing could make the sense of calm come back.

“Shh,” Laurent hissed. “Do you hear that?”

Ancel didn’t hear anything but he forced himself to hold his breath and squeeze his eyes shut. He was still shuddering but at least it was quiet. He could hear voices in the other room, the Regent and someone else. Someone with a distinctly Akielon accent.

“Shit,” Laurent said.

“B-but-” Ancel stuttered. “But isn’t that-”

“Kastor,” Laurent spit out. “Fuck. I could recognize that smug bastard’s voice anywhere. Of _course_ he’s working with the Regent. I _told_ Damen-”

He stopped abruptly when the door opened. Ancel squinted into the light, trying to figure out who was standing in the doorway. It was a slender young man who didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the sight of two disheveled men tied to chairs.

The Regent’s voice was more distinct now that the door was open. “-they took out my _stash house-”_

The young man padded closer, his head tilted curiously. He had pale skin and dark curly hair. He raised a finger to his lips with a smile. What the _fuck._

“-we’ll get it back,” Kastor was saying. “You think I don’t know where Damen keeps his shit? Don’t worry. Everything’s still on track, trust me.”

“Trust you?” the Regent continued incredulously. “Like I trusted you when you said you could keep your brother in check?”

“Trust me like you trusted me when I said I’d get you out of _prison-”_

Ancel stopped listening to the pointless argument as the young man walked over and dropped something into his hand. A pocket knife? Maybe they weren’t as fucked as Ancel thought they were.

“Kallias!” Kastor called out and the young man hurriedly took a few steps back. Kastor stormed inside with a glower. He was almost as big as Damianos, but he had a thick beard covering the lower half of his face. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I was looking for the bathroom,” Kallias said with a pout. In that moment he looked dumber than a sack of bricks. Ancel was impressed. “What have they done? They’re kind of cute. Especially the blond one.”

Now that their chances of survival were looking up, Ancel had the energy to feel a little offended. It was hard to tell in the gloom, but he thought Kallias might have winked at him.

“Never you mind,” Kastor said. “Come on baby, you shouldn’t be in here. I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

“You’re so sweet,” Kallias said, batting his eyelashes as he took Kastor’s arm and sauntered off without a care.

The door closed again and Ancel exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. Thank god for Nicaise and his spies.

“Are you crying again?” Laurent asked.

“No,” Ancel said, carefully opening the knife and starting to saw through the ropes.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting out,” Ancel said. “That was-” he lowered his voice, “-one of Nicaise’s boys. He slipped me a knife.”

Laurent huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh.

“Did you see how many were out there when they brought us in?” Ancel whispered.

“I saw a half dozen,” Laurent said. “There might be more.”

“Can you take out that many?” Ancel asked. His hands came free and he bent to untie his feet.

“What am I, Rambo?” Laurent asked.

“So what exactly is the plan here then?” Ancel hissed angrily. His feet came free and he stood, turning so he could untie Laurent.

“Sneak out?” Laurent said. “Give me the knife.”

“Fuck you, I want the knife.”

“Can you use the knife?”

The question gave Ancel pause. He’d never stabbed anyone before, never even seen anyone do it outside a movie. He certainly hadn’t _killed_ anyone. The thought of stabbing someone, slicing into warm flesh, made him ill. There’d be blood, probably. So much blood. His shirt wasn’t in the best shape but it wasn’t beyond saving. It would be beyond saving if he got it covered in blood. Could you wash blood out of silk? That didn’t seem like something he wanted to try.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. He cut the ties around around Laurent’s ankles and handed him the knife.

Laurent stood and adjusted his clothing, preternaturally calm. He wasn’t wearing his belt or shoes either.

“Maybe we should just- stay put,” Ancel said nervously as he watched Laurent pick up his chair and jam it up under the door knob, barricading the door. “Kallias is going to tell Nicaise where we are, and then our boyfriends are going to come rescue us.”

“If you want to wait around, be my guest.” Laurent took the other chair to the far wall, climbing on top of it. There was a window high up in the wall. It looked too small to squeeze through. Oh, and it was covered by a metal grate. Fantastic. Laurent probed at the edges of the grate with the knife and started prying something up, or unscrewing something.

Ancel sat on the dirty ground with his back against the wall and his head in his hands. At least he wasn’t alone. It felt wrong to be glad that Laurent was trapped in here with him, but he never claimed to be selfless.

He hoped Berenger was safe. Nicaise would keep him safe, wouldn’t he? He’d probably make a metric fuck ton of pig jokes, but he’d keep Berenger safe.

There was a muffled argument outside the door. Laurent didn’t seem to be making any progress with the grate covering the window. Ancel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall.

There were thudding footsteps coming closer, a rough voice saying “-move them-”

Ancel jerked to his feet, eyes wide. “Laurent. Did you hear that?”

The door knob jiggled as Laurent hopped off the chair and moved to stand beside the door, back pressed to the wall.

“What the-” the voice said from outside. “It’s jammed or something.”

A second voice joined the first. “It’s not jammed, get out of the way.”

The door knob jiggled some more and Ancel stood frozen, watching as Laurent adjusted his grip on the knife. There was a muffled thud. The chair creaked. There was another thud followed by cursing. The door burst open with a crash, the chair exploding into a shower of splinters. Ancel flinched, covering his eyes and squinting against the light.

“What the fuck?” a giant man demanded. “Where’s the other one?”

He and an equally giant man stormed inside. Laurent stabbed one of them in the back of the shoulder. He was probably aiming for the neck but he was too short to manage it. The man he’d stabbed howled and turned on him, slapping the knife out of his hand.

Ancel didn’t have time to worry about Laurent, he had his own thug to deal with. He’d never been in a fight before and he froze, watching wide eyed as the man walked closer.

“Don’t make trouble, Red,” the man said with a leer. “If you make trouble, boss said we can punish you however we like, so long as you’re still breathing after.”

Ancel swallowed, his entire body suddenly heavy and immovable. He knew what the asshole was implying, of course he did. But no one got to do that anymore. He’d never let anyone touch him like that again, no one except Berenger.

He grabbed the chair and swung it at the man’s giant bulk. The man hadn’t been expecting that. He tried to duck but he was a little too slow and Ancel managed to hit him over the head, one chair leg shattering. The man went down with a grunt and Ancel hurried over to where Laurent was wrestling with the other thug.

Ancel slammed the chair into the man’s back. Another chair leg came off. The man gasped out a curse so Ancel hit him again, the remaining two chair legs cracking from the abuse. Laurent scrambled for something on the ground- the knife.

He grabbed it and stabbed it into the man’s meaty neck, gritting his teeth as blood sprayed everywhere. Ancel fell back with a shocked gasp. He’d been right- stabbing resulted in a lot of blood. So much blood. Laurent shoved the man off him with a grimace. He wasn’t even moving anymore and there was still _more blood_ spilling out.

Ancel gagged as the spreading warm pool of it reached his bare toes, stepping back in a hurry.

“Come on,” Laurent hissed, rising. He was covered in blood too, his pale hair practically completely red with it.

Ancel gagged again but Laurent was taking his arm to drag him out of the room. Which was stupid, because that was _towards_ where the rest of the Regent’s men were. But it was probably better than staying in that tiny room with the _blood_ and the first man, the man Ancel had hit. Was he dead? Had Ancel _killed_ someone?

He was going to be sick. He was really going to be sick any minute now. Oh god. Jesus fuck. Hell. Shit. _Fuck._

Laurent kept yanking on his arm so Ancel had no choice but to follow.

They were in a warehouse, a large cavernous space dimly illuminated by the sunlight filtering through dirty windows high up in the walls. Thankfully there were rickety shelves set up in even rows along the length of it, stacked with crates that worked like makeshift walls, limiting visibility.

They kept to the walls, Ancel following blindly as he prayed that Laurent knew what he was doing.

And then they rounded a tall stack of crates and _Kastor_ was there, Kallias standing wide-eyed beside him. Kastor’s mouth dropped open like he was about to speak and Laurent threw the knife. The tiny stupid switchblade hit Kastor right in the eye and Ancel felt acidic bile rising up in his throat. He closed his eyes and reached out to steady himself on a crate with one hand while pressing the other to his lips.

There was going to be screaming now, and millions of armed guards, and the Regent’s furious shouting, and-

There was silence.

Ancel looked over to see that Kallias had grabbed Kastor from behind, pressing his hand to Kastor’s mouth to keep him quiet. His other hand was on the knife, pushing it further in, twisting.

Ancel looked down with a whimper. This was- this was awful. This was the worst day of his life. And that included the day he’d had to take a shit in front of a dozen french inmates in La Santé. There was a quiet thud like a body hitting the floor and Ancel shuddered.

“The exit’s that way,” Kallias whispered. Ancel assumed he was pointing but he wasn’t about to look. “There’s two men on the door. Go quickly. In about ten seconds I’m going to scream.”

“Thank you,” Laurent whispered back, and then he had Ancel by the hand again and they were running- somewhere. “Get it together,” Laurent muttered.

That was pretty difficult, seeing as how Ancel was running for his life with a man who smelled like a butcher shop. Laurent had the _knife_ in his other hand, which. Gross. Probably should have left that thing in the dead guy he’d just killed. Fuck. Laurent had killed a guy. _Two_ guys. Was that even allowed? He was a cop! How many men had he killed if this was what he was like off the clock?

Ancel vowed never to fuck with him again.

“If we get out of this I promise to never switch out your coffee for decaf again,” he breathed out.

“You- what?” Laurent asked with a startled look.

Behind them there was an earsplitting shriek. Kallias. He was carrying on and sobbing like the world’s most enthusiastic actor. Like he hadn’t been the one to twist the knife.

“Here,” Laurent said. There was a door in front of them.

Laurent pushed it open and immediately kicked someone in the balls, judging by the grunt.

Ancel followed, wincing at the brightness of a beautiful sunny day. Someone grabbed his arm and he twisted away with a gasp, backing up. Laurent was beside him, brandishing the knife. Based on the look of the bleeding man on the ground, Laurent’s headcount for the day had gone up to three.

The last man standing drew a gun, and then the Regent was striding out of the warehouse, smiling in what might have been a friendly manner had the expression been on anyone else’s face. It was the beard, probably. There was something very menacing about the beard.

The Regent was holding a gun too, but he kept his hand casually at his side.

“Laurent,” the Regent said in a disappointed tone.

“Uncle,” Laurent said coldly, still holding the knife in front of him like that might do either of them a lick of good. Well _shit._ Wasn’t that a fun little connection to unpack at a later, safer, time. No wonder Laurent hung out with criminals- apparently it was in his blood.

A few more men filed out of the building after the Regent, including the man Ancel had first hit with the chair. He felt an odd sense of relief at that. Laurent might have three bodies to his name by now, but Ancel still had zero. Berenger would be proud.

Berenger.

Suddenly Ancel knew he had one last card to play.

“Now would be a good time to run,” he said with an easy smile.

The Regent laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ancel said, tipping his chin up defiantly. “You’re running out of time. Berenger and Damianos are on their way here now. How do you think they’ll react to seeing our pretty corpses laid out on the ground? What do you think they’ll do to you in return?”

“Damen will flay you alive,” Laurent added, catching on. “He’ll cut off your fingers one by one, and then your hands, your feet. Everything. And when you’re just a screaming wasted husk, he’ll hand the knife off to Berenger. And if you’re _lucky-_ Berenger will put you out of your misery. But he might just watch and wait for you to bleed out, instead. He’s a bit of a dark horse.”

Ancel wanted to gag at the vivid imagery but he managed to keep it together, keeping a smirk over his lips. Laurent was terrifying. How had he never realized that before?

“Cute,” the Regent said. “How very cute. And how do you imagine they’ll find this place? We found the tracker in your belt.” He said the last with his gaze trained firmly on Ancel. “We threw it out of the moving car. No one knows where you are. No one is coming.”

Ancel wasn’t about to burn Kallias’ cover, but he didn’t let himself waver. “I swallowed another one before meeting you on that bridge,” he lied. “Call it insurance.”

“You’re bluffing,” the Regent hissed, his eyes narrowing. But suddenly he seemed unsure. Good.

“Do you feel lucky?” Ancel asked.

The Regent scoffed and raised his gun. That wasn’t ideal. Ancel tried not to let his terror show.

“I didn’t need you anyway,” the Regent said. “I’ll be satisfied with just Laurent. Goodbye, little bird.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Ancel saw a glint of something metallic on a nearby rooftop and a shot rang out, echoing through the warehouse district. The Regent dropped his gun with a hiss. His hand was bleeding.

Ancel laughed in disbelief. There was another shot, kicking up dirt at the Regent’s feet and making him stumble backwards. Laurent slowly lowered the knife.

There was a sound in the distance, a sound like tires over gravel. Five giant black trucks rolled up and Akielons poured out of them, all brandishing their guns.

“Told you,” Ancel said, his knees weak with relief.

The Regent turned and ran inside the warehouse, but based on the four giant Akielons that took off after him, he wouldn’t get far. His men were smart enough to surrender, sinking to their knees and putting their hands behind their heads.

“Ancel!”

Ancel turned to see Berenger running towards him. Ancel laughed and went to meet him, falling into his arms. His clothes were still damp from his dunking and he smelled vaguely of fish but Ancel didn’t care. He was safe. They were both safe.

“Fuck,” Berenger breathed out, his hold so tight it was nearly crushing. _“Fuck._ Don’t do that again. Don’t leave me like that.”

“I never meant to,” Ancel managed, tears stinging at his eyes. “That wasn’t plan A. I always meant-”

“I know, I know,” Berenger said. “I know. I love you.”

Ancel didn’t have the strength to answer, pressing his face against Berenger’s neck instead. They swayed a little as they stood, both trembling.

Laurent and Damianos were making out against a truck, which was disgusting on several levels. The main one being that Laurent was still covered in blood. Damianos didn’t seem to care.

“Are you hurt?” Berenger asked and Ancel couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, darling,” he said even as tears of relief finally spilled down his cheeks. “Not at all.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So,” Damianos said awkwardly.

“So,” Berenger echoed, drumming his fingers against the table top.

Ancel was halfway through wolfing down his second burger in the bar the Akielons used as a front for their smuggling business. Despite being a front, the food was fantastic. But maybe after the day and night Ancel had had, he’d find any food fantastic.

“Lazar,” Laurent said out of nowhere.

“What?” Ancel mumbled, looking up. Laurent had washed up in the bathroom but there was still blood in his hair.

“Is everyone in the department fucking criminals, you asked,” Laurent said. “Lazar. He’s with Pallas.”

Pallas. Ancel shuddered, putting down his burger. He was pretty sure Pallas was the Akielon who’d walked out of the warehouse holding the Regent’s severed head.

The restless movement of Berenger’s fingers intensified with his hum of displeasure. “What now?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Laurent said.

“I mean-” Berenger waved vaguely towards Damianos, Ancel, Nicaise, Isander. Towards Erasmus, sitting halfway in Kallias’ lap while Kallias fed him fries with a sappy smile over his face. “This- all this. We have to call it in.”

“I sent my best men to clean it up,” Damianos said, clearly confused.

“We can’t just- _brush this under the rug,”_ Berenger hissed. “People died.”

Nicaise rolled his eyes with a sigh and nudged Damianos in the side with his elbow. “Pigs,” he muttered under his breath. “Amirite?”

“Darling, I’m pretty sure we can _too_ just brush this under the rug,” Ancel said carefully.

“I’m with Ancel,” Laurent spoke up. “This is a goddamn mess and I’m not trying to get involved in a professional capacity.”

“So- what? We work with- with _gangs_ now?”

“We’re going legit,” Damianos said with a wounded frown.

“Here are the facts,” Laurent said, leaning forward. “We took out the Regent and the rest of his gang, as well as the criminal arm of the Akielon smuggling ring. That sounds like a service to the city, if you ask me. But if we call this in, _you’re,”_ he pointed at Berenger, “going down for assault, aiding and abetting a convicted felon, and conducting an investigation off the books.” Laurent pointed at Ancel, still looking at Berenger. “ _He’s_ going down for violating the terms of his release. He’ll be going back to prison to serve out the rest of his sentence, with a few years tacked on as a penalty.”

Ancel looked down with a shiver. The thought definitely did not appeal.

“I’ll be there with him, probably,” Laurent continued. “For three counts of manslaughter, along with everything you did. If we’re very lucky, the three of us will end up on the same cell block so we can play cards together during our very limited yard time. So tell me- what do you want to do?”

Berenger scowled and looked down at his plate, his silence answer enough.

“Good,” Laurent said with a tight nod. “And _you.”_ He glared at Ancel, making him flinch. “Next time someone comes after you, you come to _me,_ you understand? Don’t you dare go off and make another mess.”

“Yes, sir,” Ancel said seriously with an attempt at a salute.

“Jesus,” Nicaise muttered. “Enough with the dramatics.” He reached out and stole a fry off Berenger’s plate. “All’s well that ends well.”

He threw the fry at Erasmus and Kallias, who’d progressed to making out on the other side of the booth. The fry got caught in Erasmus’ honey gold curls and he pulled back, blinking in confusion as Kallias laughed and fished the fry out.

“Come on, sluts,” Nicaise said, standing up in his seat and climbing up over the back of the booth. His boys stood too, saying their goodbyes before all four of them were off.

“I need a bath,” Laurent muttered as Damianos squeezed his hand.

“So that’s just- that?” Berenger asked. At least he wasn’t pushing for them to turn themselves in anymore. Ancel was starting to worry that he’d been a bad influence.

“That’s that,” Laurent said, standing. "See you on monday." He took Damianos by the hand and led him away.

And then it was just the two of them and Ancel leaned in to press a kiss to Berenger’s cheek. “Let it go, darling,” he said. “It’s over.”

“It’s over,” Berenger agreed with a decisive nod. He stood and tossed his napkin to the table along with the rest of the detritus from their mob-provided lunch.

He offered Ancel his hand so Ancel took it, letting Berenger pull him to his feet. He didn’t let go afterwards and Ancel didn’t mind, walking close as they left the bar.

“Laurent’s not the only one who needs a bath,” Ancel said with a laugh. “You smell like the river.”

“You don’t smell of roses either,” Berenger grumbled. And then- “Shit. They took my wallet.”

“Me too,” Ancel said. It was too late to see if he could bum cab fare from Laurent or Damianos.

“What now,” Berenger said glumly.

“What, you’ve never run out on cab fare before?”

“Ancel- _no,”_ Berenger said.

But it was too late- Ancel was already smirking as he hailed a cab.

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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